Mel Sees the Light
by Willow-41z
Summary: A departure from the original storyline, just my idea of what might have happened had Mel realized a certain something earlier than she did.
1. Chapter 1

So what was my goal?

Images fled through my mind, chased by phantom emotions: my descending on Shevraeth to inform him of whatever it was the Marquise was planning; my sending him an anonymous letter with the same information. Fine, triumphant gestures, but to what end? And why?

I shook my head, as if that would dispel the images. If I was going to dip my hand into public affairs, then I had to dismiss personal considerations.

"To help the new king," I said. "To make certain that no Merindar sits again on that throne, because none of them are worthy."

Azmus smiled, clapped his hands to his knees and bowed with slow deliberation. "I shall communicate with you as soon as I know something, my lady," he said, and slipped out.

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I woke suddenly in the night with a horrid thought, one so appalling I sat up in bed with a gasp. The spring rain, beating what would have been a soothing tempo against the window, did nothing to ease my nerves. It reminded me of my ill-planned visit to Flauvic, which in turn reminded me of the Merindar plot. Which reminded me of Shevraeth.

I'd had visions of triumphantly presenting him with the details of whatever it was Azmus learned, but now those crumbled to the ground as mere delusions. What reason would he have to believe me? For all he knew—and there was some evidence to support the idea, I remembered with a blush—I was on the other side.

I knew what I had to do, but I didn't want to do it. I wanted to spare myself the humiliation. But Remalna was more important than my pride; hadn't I sworn to my father to do whatever I could to see it prosper? _If I was going to dip my hand into public affairs, then I had to dismiss personal considerations_, I reminded myself, throwing my own words back in my face. I knew what I had to do. I knelt at my table, and in a hand so shaky it was barely readable, wrote a note to the Marquis, asking him to meet with me.

I received no reply that day; I wondered if it was because Shevraeth was disgusted at the very idea of speaking to me. Then I shook my head and banished that thought. We might not be on the best terms, but he had never been anything less than polite to me. He was busy; surely that was all that was delaying his reply, I told myself as I went to bed. Or, perhaps, he was trying to judge my motives. I winced; whatever conclusions he drew about my political or personal motivations were sure to portray me in a bad light.

_Stop it_, I told myself firmly. I'd just asked to speak to him, nothing more. He couldn't possibly have any idea as to why. Perhaps it would be better if I chanced to encounter him, somewhere where we could speak in relative privacy. Then I winced again. My deliberate avoidance of him had made such an encounter with Shevraeth all but impossible. And that avoidance had probably been construed to have a political meaning, making it look again like I was on the other side—

_Stop it_, I said again. Since sleep would not come, I stared at the ceiling, laying out in my mind what I would say to the Marquis.

By the next morning, my desk was still empty of a reply. There was a letter from my Unknown, but for the first time I ignored it; I could not concentrate on anything.

_Life, Meliara_, I thought. _If you're like this now, how are you actually going to talk to him?_

Ignoring Mora's worried looks, I skipped breakfast and dressed for the day. I wandered out of my rooms, not knowing where I was going, save that I didn't want to meet anyone, until I found myself in the State Wing, outside of the archives room.

I hesitated outside the tapestry. _Well, why not?_ The Marquis would not be here; he would be either riding with Lady Trishe's party, or fencing at the practices Yora Nessaren said he never missed. I took one of my favorite memoirs from the shelves, and settled down with it, hoping to pass the time until I could reasonably go back to my rooms and check for a reply. Slowly, as I read, the butterflies in my stomach dissipated as I was drawn into the Remalna of three hundred years ago.

A soft sound at the tapestry drew me back to the present. I looked up, and saw Shevraeth, informally dressed as if he'd just come from the practice matches. "I was hoping to find you here," he said. "You wanted to speak to me?" He stepped inside and seated himself on one of the cushions by the window.

I nodded dumbly, my heart pounding. "Yes-- " I finally managed to croak. Yes, I did want to speak to him, but not here, where we'd had more than one—ah—well, argument. Or rather, where I had argued with him.

I put the book back on the shelf, my hands shaking so badly it took two attempts. He must have seen that I was nervous, for he said nothing, only waited for me to turn back around.

_Honesty_, I promised myself, and turned to face him.

"I owe you—apologies," I said. "Apologies and explanations. Only, I didn't want to do it before, because I thought you'd think I was trying to repair our relationship because you were going to be king." Well, that was honest, alright. The Marquis raised his eyebrows a bit, but was still silent, for which I was very thankful. "But Azmus—our old spy—came to me. He's trying to find out things about the Merindars, and I was going to tell you. Only, I thought you mightn't believe me, because you thought I was with them. So— well. That's why I'm speaking, now." I took a deep, shuddering breath, and clasped my hands together in a death-grip behind my back.

"I see," he said slowly, all traces of court drawl gone.

I didn't give him a chance to continue—I had no wish to know what he was thinking. "At first I thought you were a lying fop of a courtier—" I saw him wince, just a little, and reminded myself that while honesty was good, unstinting truth could be brutal—"and I was slow to change my mind because, well, partly because I was stubborn, and partly because of your reputation, and partly because the rebellion was too important for me to be wrong if I trusted you." I hesitated. _Honesty_. "And, partly I suppose—no, I know—because you brought me before Galdran."

He opened his mouth to say something, but I cut him off. "I know you had no choice," I said quickly. "I know, now, but then I thought you really were on his side. If I'd known then what I know now, I might have given you a fairer chance, but I didn't. And then I was embarrassed about how wrong I was, and—" I was rambling. On to the next thing.

"I'm sorry I threw that candlestick, by the way," I said hurriedly. "I was—well, I was mad."

He finally got a word in. "So I gathered."

I gave him a sharp look. The hint of humor in his eyes did not ease my apprehension. "But I was wrong about you then, too—life, I was wrong about everything!" I took another deep breath, and continued. This was not going to get any easier. "I believed you, I think, at Rensalaeus, but I didn't trust you. That dislike of courtiers, again. I should have—my brother did-- but you hadn't chased him halfway across Remalna, either." A definite wince this time, and I hurried to speak again. "I—I thank you for that, too. Even if I didn't appreciate it at the time. I—well. It would have been unpleasant to die at Debegri's hands." For a moment, I was sucked into the past, and I saw again that dark prison, the huge brute of a man heating brands over the fire, the chains and the instruments of torture—_No_. That was past. With a shake of my head, I brought myself back to the present, and Shevraeth's intent gaze. He looked concerned, which I suppose was better than amused.

"Then Debegri's men ambushed Bran, and I guess I was too grief-stricken to be thinking clearly. And, after—well, it's hard to make peace with someone when you've just attacked his fortress, meaning to kill him."

Again, the Marquis started to speak, his eyes crinkled slightly in amusement. I swallowed my embarrassment and cut him off again. "I knew, for sure, finally, that I was wrong about you at the battle. I was embarrassed about how wrong I'd been, and I couldn't bring myself to face you. I thought you must think I was stupid, or foolish. That's why I left—well, and because I wanted to go home. But I left the letter."

I swallowed, and turned away, addressing the rest of my words to the bookshelf. "That's about it, I guess. Oh—I didn't come to Court because I thought you'd told everyone about our—conversations, and encounters, to make them laugh. I didn't want to be laughed at for being rustic and ignorant when I came, even if I'd been trying to learn. And—coming to Court would have meant facing you, and having this very uncomfortable conversation which we're currently having." I let go of my skirts, which I'd been holding in a death-grip through the last part of my talking, and bravely turned back to look at Shevraeth. "And you probably still think I'm ignorant and rustic, and stubborn, and I don't really care. Well—actually, I do. But—that's what I had to tell you. For Remalna." My face burned.

He didn't look at me, but at some point on the floor. "I see," he said again, slowly. "I—begin to understand." Finally, he looked up. "Am I to understand that the reason for your avoidance of me has been that you thought I was _laughing_ at you?"

"Well, yes, partly," I said. "And—you were. Partly."

"Never at your expense," he said. "Had I known I was causing you so much discomfort, I would have curbed my mirth." Shevraeth fell silent.

I turned to go, wanting to leave the room as quickly as possible, but he held up a gloved hand to stop me. "Wait." He paused, and seemed to be searching for the right words. "I—thank you for telling me this. I know it wasn't easy." Suddenly, I felt a lot better. He wasn't laughing at me, or mocking me, and he even seemed to be believing me. "Let me state now, as it obviously needs to be said, that I don't think you are rustic or ignorant, not at all. Unlearned, perhaps, when I first met you—but your great pains to correct that speak highly in your favor." I blushed, remembering our conversation around the supper table in Tlanth. "As for stubborn—well, yes, I do think you are that." He smiled a little. "But also courageous, loyal, and sharp-witted."

"As for your allegiance," he continued, "there have been times when I feared you'd be drawn into a plot without thinking it through, but your willingness to perform such an obviously distasteful task shows humbling loyalty to Remalna."

"Humbling?" I repeated.

"You'll notice it was you who had the courage to broach the subject, not I."

"Yes, but I had things that needed saying," I said. "You can't have had anything to say to me." I stopped, struck by the odd expression in Shevraeth's eyes; he was staring at me intently, but it was more than that. What had I said? "As for my loyalty, it wasn't such a distasteful task," I said, trying to lighten this strange mood. "Facing you isn't very much worse than getting my foot nearly broken in a trap set by my own people, being dragged before a tyrant, condemned to a horrible death, running halfway across the kingdom on one good foot, and seeing my brother shot, and I did that for Remalna."

He looked startled, then bowed, his eyes narrowing in amusement. "I'm glad you don't find me formidable, then."

I started to speak again, but this time he cut me off, his eyes turning serious again. "I also owe you an apology. If I'd known why you felt this way about me, I would have done everything I could to show you the untruth of your assumptions."

"But you didn't know," I said, "because I didn't tell you. Because it was—well, complicated."

"I've obviously caused you a great deal of pain," Shevraeth said, "and I'm very sorry for that." He smiled tentatively. "You looked like death when I walked in. I'm sorry that things have come to such a state that the thought of speaking with me makes you so apprehensive. If I can do anything to spare you such pain in the future, I will."

"Thank you," I whispered, relief finally flooding me. I was still embarrassed, of course—I seemed to spend half my days experiencing that feeling, sometimes—but I was also strangely elated.

"We've both dreadfully misunderstood the other," Shevraeth said. "Will you—is it too much to hope that we can start over?" He extended his hand.

"Not at all," I said, taking it and smiling. "If you can forgive me for being horribly stubborn, and blind, I suppose I can forgive you for winning the war."

He laughed, the same laugh I remembered from the time I'd called him a Court decoration. I winced at the memory, more out of habit than anything else; the old recollections had somehow lost their power to embarrass. Shevraeth really did have a nice laugh, I reflected.

"Do you have any questions for me?" he said, his mouth quirking in a grin. "I don't want to leave you with anything that might cause a misunderstanding."

I thought. "Yes," I said. "Actually, I do. Why didn't you answer my note?"


	2. Chapter 2

Author's note: This was supposed to be a one-shot, but a couple of my reviewers (thank you very much to all of you, by the way) have indicated that they think it should be continued. I don't know how much longer I can keep this up for—I had originally thought that pretty soon after Mel made her peace with Shevraeth, she'd realize she loved him. Then I thought, no, this is Mel. It won't be that easy.

Anyway, enjoy. I hope.

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"I beg your pardon?" he said, eyes narrowing in surprise.

I shook my head. "Never mind. It was a stupid question."

"Not at all," said the Marquis. "I thought it would be more convenient if I simply found you, instead of us exchanging a series of letters arranging a time and a place for a meeting. And…" he hesitated.

"I was honest enough," I reminded him.

He quirked a smile. "Very well. I was afraid you'd change your mind if you had time to consider."

"True enough," I admitted. "Wait—you _knew_ what I wanted to talk to you about?"

"No," he said. "But given our relationship, I wasn't at all sure your decision to speak with me had been made with your whole heart."

I laughed, still surprised that I was able to do so in front of this man. "That's an understatement," I said. The bells rang, and I was surprised to find that it was green-change; the time had gone quickly.

"Will you come to Petitioners' Court?" said Shevraeth. "We would welcome your insights."

Before, I would have taken that as mockery; now, I realized, just how wrongly I had misinterpreted most of the things he had said to me, and I felt my face grow warm. "Um," I said. "I better not. I have—things to do." I thought of all the letters piled up on my desk, not least of which was the unanswered one from the Unknown. "Another time, perhaps." I'd made my peace with Shevraeth, but not with my past. I still thought of that room as a place resounding with mocking laughter, lined with enemies…

I shook my head. _They were not enemies_, I thought. _They were pretending_. Shevraeth had been there, and Savona, and the others. Had I but known it, their silent support might have lent me strength that day.

I jerked back to the present. Shevraeth was eyeing me curiously, but said nothing about my memories, for which I was grateful. I was not yet ready to face them. "Another time," he agreed.

I curtsied, and turned to go, but he stopped me. "Wait." I turned back. He paused, searching for the right words. "Do you wish the… change in our relationship to be known to others?"

"Well, why not?" I said. "They might as well know, I guess. I know Bran has been after me to talk to you…" I frowned, thinking. Thinking of the Merindars, in particular. "Unless… you think someone plans to exploit the rift between us?"

"The possibility had occurred to me," he said. I remembered the Marquise's letter, and wanted to know if he really had had spies intercept it. Time enough for that later, I told myself. Don't push things.

"Then maybe I should pretend we're still… not friends," I said, "and see what happens." I frowned. "It seems childish, somehow. Like pretending to be someone's friend to get what you want, only different." _Like Tamara_, I thought, but did not say it.

If he knew what I was thinking, he didn't let on. "Perhaps," he said. "The decision is yours."

I sighed. "Well, I suppose I'd better pretend to still be mad at you," I said. "But you know I'm just pretending, right?"

He smiled. "Of course, Meliara," he said. "And you, in turn, know that I have nothing but the highest respect for you?"

I blushed. "I suppose," I muttered. "Doesn't seem like I should deserve it, but—"

Shevraeth held up a gloved hand to stop me, his eyes narrowed in amusement. "Good," he said. "Then we are in accord."

I looked carefully out the window, checking the sky and the grounds. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him watching me with interest. "I'm checking for it to rain frogs, or something equally unlikely," I explained.

He laughed, and I grinned, glad he hadn't taken it the wrong way. "It's time for me to attend Petitioners' Court," he said, and bowed. "Please excuse me." I curtsied, and he left me alone with my thoughts—thoughts that were, for the first time in a day and a half, somewhat cheerful.

I decided, after some consideration, to tell Nee what had happened. I wished I could tell Bran, but my brother had quite possibly the biggest mouth in two kingdoms. I remembered the wide-eyed look on Nee's face on that day back in Tlanth when I told her I was more comfortable with a country between Shevraeth and me, and her polite lack of inquiry as to why. So, at the next breakfast when Elenet was not present, I gave her an abbreviated version of events.

"How wonderful," she said, her eyes warm. "I'd hoped the two of you would come to see eye-to-eye sooner or later."

"Not probable," I replied. "He's, what, two heads taller than I am?" Nee laughed. "This isn't common knowledge, though," I cautioned her. "No one is going to know."

She sipped her tea. "Why not?" she frowned.

"I've no desire to get into Lady Tamara's bad graces again," I said. I felt bad lying to Nee, but neither she nor Bran knew of the suspicions regarding the Merindars. It would be too complicated to explain, and the less she knew, the better.

"I really don't think she'd do anything, Mel," Nee said. "Not after that party."

"She wants to be queen," I replied. "She already thinks I took Savona from her. I don't want her to think I'm going after Shevraeth, too." I blushed. "That's the other reason for not telling anyone," I admitted. "I don't want them to think I'm mercenary."

"No one would think you're mercenary," Nee said. "Your honesty and forthrightness is too well known for that."

"My bluntness, you mean," I said, drinking my chocolate.

"Do you think she'll succeed?" Nee said. I knew she referred to Tamara, and I was startled. Weren't Shevraeth and Nee better friends than that?

I thought of Elenet. "No, of course not," I said. To cover my real reason for thinking so, I said, "I think Shevraeth is too honorable of a man to court the woman his best friend is reputed to love. And, I think he sees right through her." I thought Nee looked relieved.

I still had things I needed to say to Shevraeth, political as well as personal. The political I brought up the next time I met him in the archives room, telling him what Azmus had told me of the Merindars. I thought he probably knew most of it already, and I was right; his own spies had told him that the Marquise was planning something, though neither of us could figure out what. I told him what I knew anyway, though, because I wanted to be sure I had his trust, and I figured sharing information was a good way to start.

The personal issues I waited on, because our newly sprouted relationship was still delicate. I was beginning to genuinely enjoy his company, but always remembered that I had broken the silence between us for the good of Remalna. It wouldn't do to jeopardize that for personal reasons.

Finally, though, I remembered that waiting and not speaking had brought us to that uncomfortable situation in the first place. I couldn't let that happen again, either, so I planned out what I had to say as I read a memoir of one of my Calahanras ancestors. When I was finished with it, I would have an excuse to go back to the archive room.

I took the book back when I knew Shevraeth was most likely to be there, and as I pushed aside the tapestry, I saw him kneeling at the table. He looked up and smiled. I put the book back on the shelf, then hesitated, and said, "Can I talk to you for a moment?"

He put aside his pile of papers and pen, watching me calmly. I swallowed and knelt at the table. "Did you know about the Marquise's letter to me? Were you watching my mail?"

"Yes, and no," Shevraeth said. "My spies were watching the Marquise's mail, which is how I knew about it."

"What did—what did you think of it?"

"It worried me," he admitted. "I knew you were not as satisfied with the war's outcome as your brother. But then I went to Tlanth, and knew I had no reason for concern."

"Because I promised you I wasn't getting involved in politics again."

"Partly," he said slowly. "But partly because I saw how hard you had worked to educate yourself."

I frowned. "What did that have to do with anything?"

"Am I correct in assuming that you undertook your education at least partly to put yourself in a better position to judge what was best for Remalna?"

"Yes, that was part of it," I said. "Though I was plain tired of being ignorant, too."

"I knew, then, that if you spent so much time trying to learn in order to serve the kingdom, you would use the same care if you did become involved in politics. I realized you would not be easily manipulated," he said. "That if you took up an army against me, it would only be because you had found a better candidate for the throne." He smiled slightly.

"I wouldn't do that," I protested. "I told you."

"And I believe you," he said calmly. "That wasn't all you had to ask me, was it?"

I shook my head. "Did you come to Tlanth because of it? You arrived on the same day as it did, you know."

"I came because your brother invited me, and my mother—strongly encouraged me to go," he said, and it was my turn to hide my amusement, remembering the imperious Princess Elestra, and Nee's words to me in Tlanth. So, there was at least one person who could overmaster the Marquis. "The timing was completely coincidental, I assure you, as it was Branaric who chose the day of our departure, not I."

"And you also came to Tlanth to prevent the public appearance of a rift between you and the Astiars—well, half of them, anyway," I said, smiling wryly.

"Yes."

I nodded. If Shevraeth thought my desire to learn was a reassuring sign of my devotion to Remalna, I'd come to think the same about his trip to Tlanth, in an odd sort of way. It had been a pleasure trip, but he'd gone out of his way to seek out a woman who was rude to him, all in order to prevent a civil war that he would have won anyway. My company, I knew, had been no pleasure.

"Why did you come to Athaneral?" His voice broke into my thoughts.

"What?"

"You asked why I went to Tlanth. Why did you change your mind and come to Athaneral?" He gave me that assessing glance.

"Well, Nee asked me to," I said, thinking. "I wanted to—no, I had a duty to—attend her and Bran's wedding."

"I see," he said thoughtfully. "And was that your only reason for coming?"

I grimaced. "No." Honesty, I reminded myself. Besides, the issue had already been dealt with. "The Marquise's letter made me realize there was a lot more going on than I knew about, and I was involved in some way, but I didn't know how, or what to do. I came to Athaneral to see for myself what was going on. And—" I hesitated.

"Yes?"

"Well, to see if you'd be a better ruler than the Marquise."

"I see," he repeated. "How are you enjoying your stay?"

I blinked at the abrupt change of subject. "Well—" I thought of the political intrigue, and the polite warfare among people who never showed what they were feeling, and the intricate and unforgiving rules of etiquette. Then I thought of the library, and Nee's kindness. And the Unknown. "It's interesting," I said finally.

"In what ways?"

I hid another grimace. This wasn't something I wanted to elaborate on. "Everyone's polite and kind—well, mostly everyone," I said, thinking of Tamara, "but they all wear masks, all the time. Even you," I pointed out. "And I came here to find out

what was really going on, but sometimes I feel I've learned as much as I would had I stayed in Tlanth."

"Many of the lords and ladies have been forced to play a part since childhood if they wished to escape Galdran's suspicions and, ultimately, wrath," replied Shevraeth. "Surely Lady Nimiar told you something of this?"

"A little," I said, thinking back to the breakfasts. "And Elenet—Lady Elenet—did, too. So what you're saying is they're not used to acting like themselves yet?"

"Perhaps."

I shook my head. "I just wished I knew what they really thought."

"If it helps you any," he said, "many of them secretly rejoiced when your letter made its way to court last year. I believe the common sentiment was, among those who found a discreet way to express it, that Galdran deserved to lose."

"Why?" I said.

"Many of them lost one or both parents to the late king's fears of conspiracy."

I shuddered. "That's horrible." Knowing this, I felt, for the first time, some kinship with the polite courtiers. Had they felt as angry, and horrified, at their parents' deaths as I had at that of my mother, but been unable to show it? Had their remaining parents, if they had them, been forced to hide their rage behind polite smiles, instead of venting it by burning a library?

"Oh," I said, remembering. "There was one other thing." I hesitated, realized I didn't want to bring up Flauvic. "No, never mind. Well—yes, actually." I knew Shevraeth would be too polite to bring up any gossip he might have heard, and I wanted to know. "Why did you and Savona show up at Merindar House, that day I was talking to Flauvic? I thought you said in Tlanth, you stopped worrying that I was plotting against you."

"I realized, in Tlanth, that whatever course of action you chose would be carefully chosen and evaluated," he said. Oh. So he _had_ still thought I was plotting against him. "And I thought that such a careful examination would have led you away from the Merindars' plans. But it was not yet apparent that the Merindars realized this. My presence, along with that of Savona, was a mute warning to them, to let them make up your own mind."

"A warning to them?" I said. "Did you mean to warn me, as well?"

"Only that I didn't believe Flauvic Merindar could be trusted," he replied.

"Well, no. Not as far as I could throw this palace," I said. Shevraeth's eyes gleamed with amusement.

"Well, I think that was it," I said, turning to go. "Thank you." At the threshold, I stopped and turned back. "Oh—just so you know."

Shevraeth looked up again. "Yes?"

"I decided that you'd make a much better monarch than the Marquise. You care about Remalna, and she—she doesn't."

He blinked. "Thank you."

I nodded, and slipped through the tapestry. My insight was perfectly apparent, of course, to anyone with one eye and half of a brain, but remembering how quickly Shevraeth had changed the subject after I'd told him my true reason for coming to Athaneral, I thought he needed to know that I saw it, too.


	3. Chapter 3

Author's note: This is long, I know, but I couldn't find a good stopping point. I don't think I'll describe Petitioners' Court, as it's in the book—but then again, maybe I will. I have an idea for it. Anyway, I'm going to try and get more Unknown into the next chapter or so (I'm thinking there's only about three left)—Mel did say it was the most important part of her day.

Just a heads-up, Shevraeth may be slightly (or more) OOC in this. Please let me know, and I'll try to fix it. I hope you enjoy.

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The days passed under showers of spring rain. I worked hard on the ball for Bran and Nee; I wanted it to be perfect for them. I continued eating breakfast with Nee, and with Elenet when she could come, though I never felt I got to know her better. I kept attending the social events of those who were, if not my friends, at least Bran and Nee's friends—all except those attended by Shevraeth, for I was still avoiding him.

The few occasions we did meet in public were difficult. I would feign embarrassment and dislike, trying to act like my old self; this always caused Shevraeth's eyes to gleam with what I came to recognize as suppressed amusement. Savona would grin, too, though whether he was perceptive enough to notice some change, or Shevraeth had told him, I didn't know. It was fair enough if Shevraeth had told him, I supposed; after all, I had told Nee.

Bran, on the other hand, noticed either nothing, or too much. One evening, after a particularly, ah, _interesting_ dance, he was boiling with frustration as he walked with Nee and me back to our rooms. "Life, sister," he grumbled. "Why are you always so cold to Vidanric? He's done nothing to deserve it, and I thought you'd gotten over all that business with the rebellion and all." Nee and I exchanged looks. "People are starting to talk, Mel," Bran added.

"Who?" I was startled. "Who? What are they saying?"

He waved a hand. "Oh, people. Talking about how you never go to social events where the Marquis is there, and if you do, you don't talk to him."

I grimaced. Azmus had told me this much, which had caused me to seek out Lady Trishe's riding party, and ultimately helped give me the impetus to break with Shevraeth.

Now, as a direct result, people were still talking. But that was part of the plan, wasn't it?

"That's not true," I protested. "I talk with him, sometimes, and I dance with him…"

"Not very often," Bran returned. "Life, Mel, he may intimidate you, but would it kill you to be polite?"

"I am polite," I said, feeling the untruth of this statement.

"Nice, then."

Nee saved me. "I think Mel has her own reasons for her behavior to Vidanric, Bran," she said.

My brother blinked. "Such as what?"

"Lady Tamara," I muttered under my breath.

"Too much interest in him, from her, could be viewed objectionably in certain quarters," Nee interpreted diplomatically.

"Well, it's not like I'm asking you to marry him, you know," Bran grumbled. "Look, there's a party tomorrow, Lady Renna is having a fencing tourney. He'll be there. Come with us, stop some of the wagging tongues. What do you say?"

"I never knew you cared so much what other people said, Bran," I said quietly.

He threw up his hands in exasperation. "Life! I don't! I just don't want my friend and my sister at dagger-points with each other!"

"That's not true, either," I felt compelled to say, though I was blushing hotly. "He's always polite to me. It's me who's, ah—"

"So you admit it," Bran said. "Come on, Mel, It'll be fun. You'll enjoy it, I promise."

I gave up. "Alright. I'll come!" I said. "And I'll be nice and prim and proper to your beloved Marquis, drat him!"

"Thank you," murmured a familiar voice. I looked up to see Shevraeth in the corridor not far away. He'd obviously been walking in our direction, but had stopped when he heard our, ah, conversation.

"What are you doing here?" I demanded, too embarrassed to be courteous. Life, if he didn't think I was still playing a part—

"Just passing through," he said. "Don't let me detain you." The corners of his mouth twitched, and he slipped past us with grace.

"Mel—" Bran said, as soon as he was out of earshot.

"I don't want to hear it," I cut him off.

As soon as Bran bid us goodnight and left for his own rooms, I sank onto a cushion and buried my face in my hands.

"Perhaps you might want to reconsider?" Nee said gently, kneeling next to me. "It can't hurt to tell Bran, can it?"

"Oh, yes it can," I said through my fingers. "I love him dearly, but we both know he can't keep a secret. He'd either tell the world that Shevraeth and I were on speaking terms, or he'd want to know why we weren't acting it."

"Would that be so bad? Lady Tamara—"

"It's not Lady Tamara," I said, throwing caution to the winds. "It's political reasons." In the ensuing silence, I finally looked up.

"Political reasons?" Nee repeated, her eyes wide. "I don't understand."

"Remalna might still be in danger," I said reluctantly. "Shevraeth and I are trying to see who tries to exploit the apparent rift between us."

"You think a civil war, then?" she said.

I sighed. "I don't know. He doesn't know, either. All I know is that behind their smiling faces, not everyone wishes the good of the kingdom."

"At least, not as you see it," Nee murmured, plucking absentmindedly at her sleeve.

I frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Only that others might disagree with your view of what's best for Remalna," she said. "Not that what you want _isn't_ good," she added hastily, seeing my stricken face. "Only, take yourself and Vidanric as an example. You both thought you had the best interests of the kingdom in mind, and yet you were opposing each other."

"That's true," I admitted. I was reminded of Flauvic, for some reason, and his assertions that truth was different for all of us. "Only, the people I know of aren't even pretending to care about Remalna."

"You have names, then?" she said, watching me. "The Merindars?"

I hesitated. "You can't tell Bran, or anyone. But yes."

"What do they plan to do?"

"Invade, I think," I said, thinking back to the conversations I'd have with Shevraeth in the archive room. "Put one of them on the throne."

"The Marquise," Nee said. "She wouldn't let either of her children surpass her."

"No, I suppose not," I said, thinking of Arthal Merindar. "I think she's as dangerous as her brother, in some ways."

"No," Nee said quickly. I looked at her; her face had changed.

"Why not?"

"They share… shared… the same ambition," said Nee, "but Galdran had ultimate power." She shuddered, just a little. "Until the Marquise has that, she will never be as dangerous as her brother." She looked up at me, and hesitated for a moment. "I know what you think of courtiers, Mel, and I agree to some extent. But in some ways, being here at Court was just as dangerous as fighting Galdran on the battle field."

"I'm beginning to see that," I agreed, remembering what Shevraeth had said of Galdran's murders. "He had my mother killed, and she wasn't even in Court." Nee's eyes widened; Bran must not have told her. "It must have taken more courage than I'll ever have to live here."

Nee shook her head. "No. We had no choice, but you acted voluntarily. That makes you a heroine, Mel." She smiled a little. "I remember back in the war days," she said. "It was dangerous to stand in full Court then, but satisfying, too, as the stories came in about how you and Bran were eluding Debegri. And Shevraeth." She looked at me. "I'm sorry. I know you don't like to be reminded of those days."

"We never eluded Shevraeth," I said soberly, remembering. "He could have crushed us if he wanted to."

"But he didn't," Nee said.

"No. No, he didn't." I forced myself to smile. "I think I'd better go to bed," I said, faking a yawn. "Don't want to fall asleep at that party tomorrow."

"I'm sure if you really don't want to go, Bran would understand," she said. "I can help you talk to him, if you like."

"I said I'd go," I answered. "So I'll go."

This habit of abrupt and unpleasant awakenings was becoming, well, unpleasant. I dressed as quickly as I could and tapped outside Nee's tapestry.

"Nee," I said, stepping inside. "How can I go to the party? I wasn't invited. Can Bran invite me? Should I write to Lady Renna and ask her?"

"You were invited," she said. "You're invited to all of the social events Bran and I go to."

I blinked. "What? No one says anything, or writes me anything."

"They've given up on issuing formal invitations for you," she explained, "since you never come. But you're always welcome."

"So, I'm invited, but I'm not invited?"

"You are invited," she said firmly.

"Do I need to write a note to Lady Renna, then, telling her I'm coming?"

"It would be polite."

"Right." I retreated to my rooms, and struggled to write an awkward message. I finally came up with something that wasn't _too_ awkward, and gave it to Mora to give to a messenger, hoping it would arrive on time. Then I returned to Nee's parlor. "Ah—I've never been to one of these before. What do I wear to a fencing tourney?"

"Well," Nee said, "that depends on if you intend to fence, or watch."

I frowned. I wasn't very good at fencing, compared to the other nobles who had trained since childhood, and I'd not had the chance to practice in a long time. Still, after the battle with Galdran, it was a well-known fact that I _could_ wield a sword, and to go as a spectator would be cowardly. I'd just have to take my humiliation. "I'm going to fence."

"Then riding clothes would be best," she said. "Or, whatever other tunics and pants you might have. Most of the women there will be watching and not fencing, but Lady Renna could probably give you something to wear, if you asked."

I shook my head. "I still have some of my old clothes from Tlanth." Then I frowned again. "Why don't the women fence?"

"We weren't trained to it," she said. "Most of those who were, like Lady Renna and Lady Trishe, have either brothers or husbands who taught them. Galdran was wary about anyone with military skills, and it would have looked suspicious to have sought training in the art of the sword."

"Then where did people like Savona and Shevraeth learn? And Debegri, for that matter?"

"Galdran had Debegri taught," said Nee. "He always had his eye on him to be his enforcer, even when they were both young. Debegri tried to teach Savona and some of the other lords, but they were smart enough to feign ineptitude. I don't know where Savona learned to fence, actually—probably at Renselaeus."

"And Shevraeth?"

"He went to the military academy at Marloven Hess. Kept him out of Galdran's way for a few years, though when he came back, he had to pretend to forget most of what he had learned."

I gaped. "The Marloven Hess at the other end of the continent?"

"I believe so. Why?" She looked curiously at my worried face.

"I've—read about them," I said. "They, uh, have a pretty bad reputation." That was a mild way to put it. The kingdom of Marloven Hess was always trying to expand its territory, and its kings were notorious for the use of black magic. "His parents _sent_ Shevraeth there?"

"Yes," she said, watching me. "It can't be that bad of a place, can it, if he came back unharmed?"

I shook my head. "I wasn't thinking of physical harm," I said, though she had a point. Despite my past prejudices against him, even I could not accuse Shevraeth of acting like a Marloven. I shook my head again. "I'd better go get changed."

The fencing tourney was not held in the old gymnasium where the Renselaeus soldiers practiced. It was in another wing, in a smaller room, but one which served an obviously social purpose. The tables had been moved near the walls and spread with food, leaving a clear space in the center for the competitors.

"I don't have a sword," I muttered to Nee and Bran as we walked in. "Not even a practice one."

"Don't worry," Nee replied, "I'm sure—" Whatever she was going to say was lost as Lady Renna came and greeted us. I looked around at the other people: Lady Trishe and Baron Khialem, Lady Tamara, Deric, Geral, Lord Alcanad, Lady Renna's husband. Almost the same crowd that had been at Lady Trishe's riding party. And, of course, Shevraeth and Savona. And Lady Elenet. Did she fence, I wondered?

"… Glad you could come," Lady Renna was saying. She looked at my clothes and smiled. "I was hoping you would compete today. I've been wanting to see you fence."

"I don't know why everyone's saying that," I mumbled, blushing. "I'm not very good."

Lady Renna frowned. "But you defeated Galdran last year."

"What? No, that's not true," I said. Suddenly, Nee's words at Tlanth drifted back to me: _And the Renselaeuses don't talk about the war at all_. She'd also said that Bran always claimed he couldn't remember the events. Life, did _everyone_ think I'd killed Galdran? Hadn't Tamara been trying to get the truth from me at that awful party of hers? I had told it then, but whether anyone had understood me, much less taken it for anything but drunken rambling, I didn't know. I had a horrid thought: What if this was why I was popular, because they all thought I'd killed the king? Well, I couldn't pretend any longer, even if that was the case. "No, he defeated me. Knocked me out of the saddle after one blow."

"Then who—"

"Shevraeth," I said. "The Marquis killed him." I glanced around the room; there were suddenly far too many people listening to me. "At least, that's what Bran said."

"What?" Bran had heard his name. "What did I say?"

"That Shevraeth killed Galdran. At the battle. That's what you told me, wasn't it?"

He blinked at me. "You were there, weren't you?"

I glared at him, my cheeks hot. "I was lying unconscious in a mud puddle, Bran. I don't remember it."

He scratched his chin. "Right. I'd forgotten. I was a bit busy myself."

"This is a surprise," said a cool female voice. I looked up to see Tamara standing nearby. She'd heard every word—not difficult, as all other conversations had ceased. She turned to Shevraeth, who was nearby. "Is this true, Vidanric? Do we owe you our gratitude for ridding us of a tyrant?"

_Of course you do_, I thought. _Whether he killed Galdran or not, Shevraeth still arranged the whole rebellion_. Well, the part that mattered, anyway. Much as it pained me to admit it, I knew that our small army would not have accomplished anything effective against Galdran's full might,

"I delivered his death-blow," Shevraeth replied, as everyone watched him. "But it was the Astiars who made his demise possible." He bowed in our direction. What was he talking about? We hadn't made Galdran's death possible, unless you counted that it was our letter which had lured him into the trap.

"Well," Renna said, breaking the silence like a good hostess. "Shall we begin?"

Feeling self-conscious, I joined the other competitors in a corner of the room. Renna was the only other woman dressed for dueling, though all the men were. The other women knelt on the cushions around the room, helping themselves to the delicacies on the tables.

"We pair off one at a time," she explained, for my benefit, I thought. "The first person, according to hierarchy, chooses his—or her—partner, and they fight while the others watch. Then the next person chooses their partner, and so on."

"Hierarchy?" I said. "You mean rank?"

She shook her head. "No. Hierarchy of expertise." Nessaren had used that term. "Vidanric is the best among us, so he chooses his partner first."

"Best most of the time," Savona corrected, crossing his arms and grinning at his cousin.

I expected the two of them to pair off, but Shevraeth chose to fence with Deric instead. The Marquis was good, alright; I'd learned that last year. He disarmed his opponent in a matter of moments.

"Is that required?" I asked Renna. "I thought you just had to score points."

"You do," she replied.

"Disarming your opponent is just a way of showing off," Savona said, raising an eyebrow and mock-glaring at Shevraeth. The Marquis only bowed, his eyes crinkling with amusement. I could see how the two had gotten to be good friends. "Well, Countess, shall we?" The Duke extended a hand.

I blinked up at him. "You mean, fight? Me? Now?" He nodded, grinning. "But—I haven't got a sword." I blushed, thinking how stupid I must look coming without one. I'd lost the only sword I'd ever owned at Vesingrui last year, though, and had never gotten it back. The one I'd borrowed for the battle with Galdran, I'd left at the woodcutter's house.

A wooden hilt appeared in my field of vision, and I looked over to see Shevraeth holding out his practice sword. Savona glared at him again. "Anything to see me beaten, is that it, Danric?"

"I think it's a vain effort," I muttered as I took the sword, backed up a few steps, and swung it experimentally. It was longer and heavier than I was used to. It had probably been made to match Shevraeth's real sword, but it would do. "Thank you," I told him. He bowed. "Right. Let's get this over with."

Savona was very, very good; I couldn't tell any difference between his skill and that of his cousin's. He scored two hits on me in quick succession before I backed up a little, giving myself space. He was taller, and had a longer reach, but my sword was slightly longer, though my wrist had started to ache after thirty seconds of wielding it. I knew I must look faintly ridiculous wielding it, and my desire not to humiliate myself further gave me strength. I felt lucky; usually when I tried not to make mistakes, I only made more. After a few more minutes of hard fighting, I'd managed to score two points of my own.

Suddenly, Savona lunged forward, whipping his blade in a complicated pattern that I'd never seen before. I took a step back, and then another, and ran up against the wall. Frantically trying to correct my mistake, I ducked under his arm. He feinted, I moved to block from below—and my blade slid under his guard to hit him on the chest. I'd won.

He blinked, and bowed as some of the men laughed. "You forgot to guard against a lower attack from a shorter opponent, Russav," Shevraeth drawled.

"I graciously cede victory to one such as you, Meliara," Savona said. I blushed, and returned Shevraeth's sword.

As the next duo dueled, I tried to determine if Savona had favored me. He'd certainly made me work hard, but then, all of my opponents did. I decided I'd have to watch his other matches and see how he fought then. At the end of the tourney, I was almost certain he had. I'd fought Deric, the Baron, and Bran, none of whom were reputed to match Savona's prowess with the blade, and they'd all defeated me. The realization took most, though not all, of the satisfaction out of my victory.

The bells for third-gold rang, and we parted. Bran and Nee wandered away hand-in-hand, and I carefully chose a different route. There was a dull, achy feeling in my chest that I couldn't quite name; I decided to call it loneliness, for lack of a better term. Why?

"There are sword practices every morning in the old gym." I jumped. Shevraeth was walking beside me.

"I know. Captain Nessaren told me."

"They have extra swords."

I looked up sharply, expecting to see amusement in those grey eyes, but he was regarding me blandly. So I muttered, "I told you, I don't like battles. Why should I have a sword?"

"No one expects you to."

"I gave mine up to your people," I said. "Well, not to your people, but I left it in the hills at your fortress. Vesingrui."

"I believe one of your companions picked it up," he said. "The dark-haired one."

"You were watching that closely?" Hadn't he been on the bridge, far below?

"You were under the impression that I'd killed your brother," he said drily. "I wasn't at all sure that you were going to, ah, come quietly."

And what if I hadn't? I wanted to ask, but it was a pointless question. Instead, I thought about what he'd said, and blinked in surprise. "Oria? She never mentioned having my sword."

"Is this Oria the same woman who is your steward at Tlanth?"

Again, I was surprised, this time at Shevraeth's memory. "Yes. She's also my maid's daughter—Julen, not Mora—and the blacksmith's niece."

"And she fought beside you?"

"They all did," I said. "It was a personal war. We were fighting for our homes. Besides, there was nowhere else for them to go. Not after… not after you took the castle at Erken-Astiar." I winced. I really had to stop bringing that up. I'd told Shevraeth I didn't hold any more resentment against him from the war—and that was true enough. I didn't resent him. But the war was a difficult thing to forget. "Nee said you trained in Marloven Hess," I said abruptly, trying to change the subject.

"I did."

"Is it true that all their kings use black magic?"

"It used to be," he said after a moment. "Senrid… the king… was trained in it. But from what I heard when I was there, he'd stopped using it."

"Why?"

"A brush with Norsunder." Shevraeth's tone changed, just slightly, and I looked up to see his eyes narrowed. I shivered.

"I'm glad we don't have mages," I said. "Wait—"

"Yes?"

"Flauvic," I said quietly. "When I went to the Merindar estates, the first time. He used magic."

"What did he do?"

"Made a bouquet. He called it illusion magic, said all the people in Sles Adran knew how to do it. But I'm not sure I believe him."

"Only as far as you can throw the palace," Shevraeth murmured. "Thank you for telling me. I'll have my people look into it. If he is a mage…"

"I think I'll be writing Oria to get my sword back," I said. "I have this feeling I'm going to need it."

"One could be made for you, more quickly than your sword could travel from Tlanth."

"How?"

"The royal armorers. They're in the steward's complex."

"Steward's complex? I didn't know there was one."

"The steward's complex is where all the day-to-day tasks of running a palace are coordinated," he explained. "Everything except for the kitchens is located there."

"I see there's a lot about this place I don't know," I said. "The servants' quarters, the runners' ways, the steward's complex…" I trailed off. In Tlanth, I'd known practically every building and every tree.

"Have you given any more thought to attending Petitioners' Court?" Shevraeth's voice broke into my reverie. I blinked, and looked up. Our conversation had carried us nearly to my quarters.

I sighed. "I probably should," I said, "since I came here to see how the government works. But I don't think Bran and Nee are going today, and…" _And I'd rather not face that room by myself_, I thought.

"You could go as Savona's guest," Shevraeth said as if he'd read my thoughts. "He wouldn't mind."

I looked up at him sharply. This was the first time he'd mentioned, even obliquely, the Duke's flirtation with me. His grey eyes were unreadable.

"All right, then," I said. "I'll come. But don't expect me to talk."

"As you wish," he replied, and left.


	4. Chapter 4

Author's Note: Beware of yet more OOCness. I'm rereading the Duet, and thinking I'll need to rewrite this whole thing when it's done. Ah well.

Also, I didn't post a disclaimer at the beginning because I thought it was obvious that none of it was mine, but I read since then that Ms. Smith requests all fanfiction writers to post disclaimers, so here's mine: The characters and most of the situations are the property of Sherwood Smith.

_Dear Unknown,_

_I attended my first session of Petitioners' Court today._

I sat back and thought. Should I cross out the 'first'? The present wording implied I'd be going again, something I wasn't at all sure of. I decided to leave it.

_It was a thought-provoking experience; there are still many areas of my education which are lacking. I'd hoped to be able to use the Athanarel libraries to remedy that, but for one reason or another, that hasn't gone as expected._ Not 'one reason or another': one reason. Shevraeth. But now that we were on better terms, I could fix that… couldn't I?

_The trade issues are fascinating. I handled our finances in Tlanth, but never saw anything as complex as this. You can wage war as much with a pen and a column of figures as you can with a whole riding of warriors—as much, in fact, as you can with a fan. Seeing this makes me wonder if there was another way, last year._

I bit my lip, not sure how to go on without betraying Shevraeth's confidence. Finally, I added, _The war was meant to be, well, not a war, but peaceful. How could this have been accomplished, without bloodshed—or assassination? For I think that would have made us no better than Greedy Galdran._

I hesitated over this last paragraph. It betrayed, if the Unknown cared to look carefully, the fact that Bran and I had very much _not_ been in control of the war after we'd joined Shevraeth. But I'd already hinted at that, at Lady Renna's fencing tourney. And surely others knew. Lady Tamara's delicate insults told me that much.

I decided to leave it. Looking over what I'd written, I realized I'd dwelt much more on current events than I usually did. _As for the Colend court, the points you make are intriguing, but I must confess myself inclined to disagree on more than one. Did not Lady Valerian write…_ I continued scribbling, writing with only half a mind. The other half contemplated why I could disagree with anyone politely enough, when I put my mind to it—except for Shevraeth.

I shook my head. Why did I keep dwelling on it? It was in the past, and I was not about to let it become the present again. I would keep a firm reign on my tongue when I was around him, though any churlish remarks on my part would probably be due to thoughtlessness, not anger. I would _not_ let anything damage our newfound concord, for that would mean wasting all the embarrassment I'd gone through clearing the air with him. Comforted by my resolve, I signed, sealed and sent the letter.

Standing, I stretched my hands far over my head and leaned back, ungracefully easing the crick out of my neck. I'd been sitting for far longer than I'd thought; my letters to the Unknown were getting longer and longer. And why not? I counted him—whoever he was—as a true friend, someone like Nee and Renna, in whose company I spent many hours. A friend—or something more.

I lingered on this thought and decided to go for a ride by myself. A hard, fast ride would clear the cobwebs from my mind, and the sun would feel good after a week of clouds.

The stables were deserted, probably because the riding trails were all still muddy. Waving away the grooms, I saddled my favorite brown mare—and froze. There, in the tack, was a single white rose.

"How did this get here?" I demanded, turning back to the servant.

He bowed. "A man brought it, Countess."

"A man?" I said, my heart pounding. "Who else rides this horse?"

"No one since you came, Your Ladyship," he answered. "Plenty of other horses, for those who don't have their own."

The Unknown. It had to be. Or did it? His messages were always delivered to my parlor. Might one of my flirts—Savona, or Deric—have left this here? But why would they have left a white rose, too? "A noble man?" I said. "Or a servant?"

He hesitated. "I was bidden not to say."

Confused, I slipped the rose between the pommel and the saddle blanket and rode away at a fast pace. It had to be the Unknown, I thought again. No one else had sent me a white rose, let alone two. I supposed the grooms would have told him which horse I rode, if he did not already know, but how had he known I would be going for a ride soon? The flower was fresh, barely opened and just cut. I could write and ask about it, but what if it was from someone else?

My ride took me in a new direction, away from the palace. Through the trees, I glimpsed the building that had to be the steward's complex, and resolved to go there after I finished my ride. I hoped, with all my heart, that I would not need to use whatever sword I ordered, but I knew it was probably a vain hope. The information both Shevraeth and I had pointed too clearly to trouble, trouble on the part of the Marquise of Merindar. How much more would I have to go through to fulfill my vows to Papa? Would I be watching over Remalna for the rest of my life?

Not for the first time that day, I hesitated. Bran was completely ignorant of what was coming, as was everyone else I cared about, except for Nee, who I'd given a brief sketch of the situation. They deserved to be warned, but how? I knew I'd have to ask Shevraeth, and for just a moment, the old anger rose up. He was _still_ controlling the war!

_Just as well,_ I reminded myself firmly. _You nearly botched it spectacularly, despite his best efforts_. I took deep breaths to calm down. My mind being elsewhere, I didn't notice my horse's twitching ears, and was totally unprepared when a cloud of birds burst from the nearby trees, causing her to rear. Grabbing the reins to keep my seat only caused her to dance a few steps. I flailed wildly, trying to balance, then tumbled off the back of the saddle and landed spectacularly—and familiarly—in the mud, rolling quickly away from those stomping hooves.

My left ankle twinged, but I ignored it as I scrambled to my feet and hastened to calm my horse. Her eyes rolled wildly, but I kept a firm grip on the reins and stroked her nose. Slowly, she stopped snorting and settled back to the ground. Only then did I look over myself, finding no injuries worse than a spectacular coating of mud.

_At least I was riding alone_, I thought, until horse hoofbeats made me look up to see Savona riding quickly towards me, Shevraeth only a half-length behind him. "Lady Meliara!" the duke called, his customary smile absent from his face. "Are you alright?"

_I _was, I thought. It _would_ be those two. Out loud, I said, "Only my pride is hurt." I turned my face to my horse as the lords approached.

"I'm afraid it's our fault," Savona said. I heard him dismount. "We startled the birds." Apparently he didn't trust my judgment, for I turned back around to see him regarding me with an intense scrutiny that would have made me blush had it not been so serious. I looked away, only to see the same look in Shevraeth's eyes.

"I'm fine," I repeated, trying to lighten the mood. "It takes a lot more than a fall from a horse to hurt me." I paused, then added, "At the very least, I have to be hit over the head by a king first."

It worked; Savona laughed, and turned to Shevraeth. "You weren't planning on that, I hope, Danric?"

"I'd fear for my own head if I did so," he said drily.

The duke grinned. "Another accomplishment, Lady Meliara," he said. "There's not much my cousin fears."

"My list of _accomplishments_ is growing rather short," I said ruefully, looking down at my muddy clothes. "To think Lady Tamara spoke in praise of my riding!"

"Even the best riders make mistakes," said Savona. "Danric, here, once tried to ford a river on that grey of his. The Akaeriki, in fact, where it comes down from the mountains in Renselaeus. In early spring. During a rain storm." He paused, waiting for the implications to sink in.

I knew what he was doing, but I couldn't help asking, "So what happened?"

"I got wet," Shevraeth said shortly, though the corners of his mouth crinkled as if he were trying not to laugh. "Very wet. Russav, why can't you ever tell these stories about yourself?"

"Because that would be implying I am one of the best riders," Savona said, grinning wickedly. "And that would be immodest."

I realized I was keeping them from their ride, and swung back into the saddle, wincing as I put my weight on my left ankle. My face was turned away from the lords, so they didn't notice. As I settled into the seat, Shevraeth plucked something from the ground and held it out to me. I looked at it: it was the white rose, only a little muddy.

"This fell from your saddle," he said smoothly.

I blushed and took it, tucking it back into its former position. "Thank you."

"Are you sure you're well enough to ride?" Shevraeth said, watching me closely.

I should have known he would have seen that grimace, even if I was turned away. "I am," I assured him. He nodded, and mounted his own horse with fluid grace. It was not, I noticed, the grey.

"I see I have another rival," Savona said, nodding towards the flowers. "Or is it the same one?"

"Um," I said articulately. "How would I tell the difference?"

Savona laughed. "Were he to send you anything but white roses, I might be alarmed. As it is, I have no qualms about monopolizing you at the next ball."

"Your own ball for Lady Nimiar and Lord Branaric is approaching, is it not?" Shevraeth said from my other side.

I nodded. "Next week." Savona, as well as the Renselaeus family, had responded that they would attend. I added, "I just hope it goes alright."

The duke looked shocked. "How could it not, when you are hosting?"

"Now you're starting to sound like Lady Tamara," I said, belatedly remembering that mentioning her in this company, especially twice, was neither wise nor tactful. "I will be content if my entertaining skills prove more reliable than my skills with a horse."

"I do believe those skills have been somewhat undervalued of late," the duke said thoughtfully. Before I could reply, he nudged his horse into a gallop.

Startled as I was, it only took me a second to respond, and we raced down the trails. I didn't know where Shevraeth had gotten to. "To the oak tree!" Savona called, grinning a challenge. I dug my heels in further and leaned low over my horse's neck.

It was close. The path curved, following a fence before it reached a gate that led to the field where the oak tree stood. We were even coming out of the trees, but my horse stumbled in the mud and Savona pulled ahead. I urged the mare back into a gallop—and then swerved off the path, heading straight for the fence.

I'd taken few formal jumps before, with posts and bars, but the mountain trails at home were often littered with trees, and this was not very different. I sat deeply in the saddle as my brown mare soared over the low barrier and headed straight for the tree. Behind me and to my right, I heard a startled exclamation, then silence, the heavy thud of a horse landing, and hoofbeats once more.

I won by less than a length. Savona's horse was larger than mine, and had surer footing, and quickly made up the ground I had gained. But I still won, and dismounted by the tree, grinning widely.

"I defer to your expertise," Savona said, dismounting and bowing. "Your use of the shortcut was ingenious."

His choice of words made me blush, and I patted my horse on the nose so he would not see my face. "Shortest route between two points," I said.

Hoofbeats announced Shevraeth's arrival. His horse was breathing hard; he must have galloped after us. Savona grinned widely. "There you are," he said. "My condolences on your… loss." He cocked his head. "Or do you not consider this a proper race? Is it a race in which the better rider does not ride?"

"Was there a wager?" Shevraeth retorted. "As for my loss, I see we share the same fate." He bowed to me. "My congratulations, Lady Meliara."

"Thank you," I said, carefully not looking at him. I knew, _knew_, if I looked up, I'd see that mock-solemn face, those grey eyes narrowed in amusement at the mention of races and wagers.

"May we escort you back to the Residence, Lady Meliara?" Savona said. "To protect you from the evil hordes of ravening birds—and perhaps this mysterious rival of mine?"

"Thank you," I said again, "but I'm not going to the Residence." I hesitated. "I'm going to the steward's complex." If the duke was surprised, he quickly hid it; as for Shevraeth, when I finally glanced at him, his face was serious, his eyes comprehending. "But I thank you for your kind offer." I mounted my mare.

"Lady Renna is holding a race three days from now, if the weather is fine," Savona said. "Will you come, and dazzle us with your brilliance?"

"That depends on how many falls I take between now and then," I replied. "I can't very well go if all my riding clothes are muddy beyond repair!" Since I couldn't curtsy on horseback, I nodded to the lords, and rode away.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: This is really rough, a first draft composed of a couple of different segments. I'll revise it, but a head's-up that it's choppy. And I think the other chapters sparkled more.

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I no longer avoided the small archive room off of the main library, now that a casual encounter with Shevraeth was not something to be feared. But I still went there most often when he was not present, during sword practices or Petitioners' Court; I didn't want him to think I was seeking him out. If he appeared while I was there, I usually left after a few minutes, letting him work in peace.

This morning, though, I merely muttered an abstracted "Hello" when he came in. I was scanning the shelves, trying to read the faded writing on the dark spines so I could find the section I was looking for. "Do you know anything about the mage-kings of Chwair?" I said on impulse.

"Some. Why do you ask?" His voice sounded strange, and I wondered if he was getting a cold. Hadn't Nee said he'd been sick most of the time before he came to Tlanth?

I blushed. "Someone wrote to me about them."

He paused, then pointed to one of the shelves. "Most of the information is in the larger room," he said, "but you may find something of interest there."

The larger library. Of course. Why hadn't I thought of that? Because I was accustomed to spending my time in here. Out of courtesy, I looked at the shelf Shevraeth had pointed to, and picked up one of the books. The prince of that time had been the ambassador to Sartor, and when he'd become king, he'd written an account of his days there, including a description of Chwair. As I looked through it, it seemed familiar. Suddenly I realized this was one of the books my Unknown must have used in writing his letter.

"Is this—are there other copies of this, elsewhere?" I said, my heart hammering in my chest.

Shevraeth looked up from his stack of papers. "It's possible, but as I recall, that's a rather obscure book. I doubt anyone would have taken the time to reprint it. Why?"

"Then—do other people come in here, often?"

"I don't know. You'd have to ask the footmen." He gave me one of his assessing looks. "Are you well? You look pale."

"Yes, I'm fine," I said hastily, and excused myself. As I walked through the stacks in the main library, my heart did not stop pounding. I was sure my Unknown had been in that room; perhaps Nee could tell me who frequented the library, besides myself and Shevraeth.

As I walked back to my rooms, I felt oddly discontent. My mysterious correspondent seemed more _alive_ somehow, more real, and I was no longer satisfied with abstract historical discussions; I wanted some way to connect our correspondence to everyday affairs, and bring it to a more personal level. But how? I frowned. To add to my confusion, Shevraeth kept intruding suddenly into my thoughts, and I thought of a question I couldn't ask him.

When I returned to my parlor, I knelt at my desk, and penned a quick note to the Unknown, inquiring if he knew why no plans had yet been made for Shevraeth's coronation.

I had not intended to go to the races, because I had too much to do to get ready for Bran and Nee's ball, which was in just four days. But that morning dawned fair and clear, and I realized I didn't want to sit inside on a day that was a welcome break from the rain. So I changed from my morning gown into riding clothes and set out for where Lady Renna had set up a racecourse.

I got lost not once but twice, and was thoroughly ashamed of myself by the time I stumbled on the wide meadow where the others had gathered. I should have gone with Bran and Nee, but they had wandered off hand-in-hand, and I hadn't wanted to follow them. So by the time I tramped through the dirt, the others were well-gathered, eating the breakfast Lady Renna had provided.

"Welcome," she greeted me, making no reference to my tardiness.

Bran was not so reticent. "What happened, sister, you get lost?"

"I was admiring the gardens," I rejoined. This got a laugh from everyone.

"And how do you like them?" Lady Tamara said, waving her fan in neutral mode.

"They're well enough, I suppose," I said. Truthfully, I preferred the mountain trails of Tlanth. "Very… exotic."

"I'm sure we would find your gardens just as novel were we to visit Tlanth," said Lady Trishe.

"You once told me that you have no kinthus in Tlanth, is that correct?" said Nee.

I nodded. "Yes," I said, and then explained for everyone else's sake. "The kinthus puts the Hill Folk to sleep… well, it kills them. So we don't keep any around, and if we find it growing, we dig it out."

"No kinthus?" repeated Lady Arasa Elbanek, her eyes wide. "But… how do you tend wounds, and how do your women go through childbirth?"

"We have listerblossom," I said, shrugging. "It serves us well enough."

Lady Arasa shuddered. "I'd certainly not want to live there!"

Lady Trishe broke the awkward silence that followed. "A homage to the fortitude of your people," she said, nodding to Bran and me. "No wonder the warriors of Tlanth have acquired such a reputation for fierceness."

I looked at Bran, and he looked at me. Warriors? Fierce? While it was true that, as Shevraeth said, we fought hard when riled, the image Lady Trishe's words created did not match with the ragtag army we'd led. Life, even if we'd been able to use kinthus, we wouldn't have been able to afford it; it was more expensive than listerblossom.

"Well," Lady Renna said. "Shall we ride?"

I sat out the first few rounds and watched Bran trounce Geral and Deric. Then Lady Renna raced Lord Alcanad Hazhlee and her husband—and won—and Shevraeth, riding his dappled grey, beat Savona and Bran. Then they stopped for a while, to let the horses rest, and servants brought more food and drink.

I avoided Shevraeth, as usual in public, but this time I was sincere about it. I didn't know why, but being near him gave me a funny feeling in my stomach—almost like a stab of guilt. It wasn't a pleasant sensation, and I needed time to figure it out. Why should Shevraeth make me feel conscience-stricken? I'd made my peace with him, and I was keeping my vow with father. Why, then—and why was I suddenly reminded of my Unknown?

I sat a little apart from the others and watched them. Lady Elenet sat with Shevraeth, Savona, and Tamara, but she was very quiet. How did she and Tamara get along, I wondered? I could not imagine Lady Elenet quarreling with anyone, but she was often in Shevraeth's company, which might excite Tamara's jealousy. Or was she content with Savona now, and if so, why? I couldn't tell the answers, and my head started to spin from trying to read these Court-breds.

"Isn't that right, Countess?"

"I beg your pardon?" I said, my face growing hot. While I'd been staring at her group, I hadn't noticed Lady Tamara talking to me.

Before our truce, she would have slain me with it. Now, she just repeated herself: "I said, no horse race would be complete without a match between our reigning champion—" she gestured to Shevraeth—"and our famed challenger. Don't you agree?"

"I'm not sure about the famed challenger part," I said. "Well, famed, maybe, but not in the right way." I thought about my disastrous last ride—and the white rose. Why had that come to mind?

"Oh, come, Lady Meliara, you are too modest," said Tamara. "We must see the two of you race."

Well, there was no getting around that. "Fine," I said, and tried not to look at Shevraeth.

"I would be delighted to race Lady Meliara," I heard him drawl, and despite myself, I watched him get to his feet and take the reins of his grey from a servant.

"How about a wager?" Bran suggested. "Between the two of you. Make things more interesting."

I hastily reached for my cup, taking a swallow of wine to hide my blush, then another to give me time to collect my thoughts. I looked up, and choked: Savona was leaning against the fence with his arms crossed, trying very hard not to grin. Which meant he knew.

"You alright, sister?" Bran pounded me on the back with such force that my eyes watered. I nodded hastily. "Look like you'd seen a ghost."

The ghost of old humiliations, perhaps. "Only yours, if you pound me again like that," I retorted. I felt horribly betrayed, but I dared not show it; any explanations would involve the first wager, which I would have died before mentioning. Or had Shevraeth already told everyone else, as well? I looked at their faces, and satisfied myself that that was not true. Nee and Tamara, perhaps, could hide behind their Court masks, but had my brother known anything, it would have been on his face and on his lips.

"Well?" Deric said. "As our lovely Thorn says, a race is not a race without a stake."

"I would be happy to accept whatever wager Meliara chooses," Shevraeth drawled. I dared not look at him or Savona again.

"If I win," I said, trying to think quickly. I had no plausible reason to refuse the wager, so I had to come up with an innocuous stake. "If I win, you take a day off from your Court duties and relax, before Her Highness has all of our hides for wearing you out." That was safe enough, no humiliation to me if I won.

"Agreed," he said, stepping towards his dappled grey.

"Wait a minute," Deric said. "A wager's not a wager unless there's two sides to it. What'll you have from Mel if you win, Danric?"

I busied myself with my riding gloves so I had an excuse to turn away from the others. Nee, I saw, was looking at me with a small frown. Were my emotions that evident on my face? I chanced looking at Shevraeth; he was watching me intently, and I looked away again with a deeper blush. Something in his glance made me suspect he'd deliberately tried to avoid making his half of the wager.

"If I win, I believe I will require a day of your time, Lady Meliara, as you require a day of mine," he said finally.

"Fine," I said, trying not to grind my teeth. It could have been worse, much worse, but all I wanted to do was escape to my rooms where I could scream in private. Scream, and kick myself for ever trusting the Marquis. He'd obviously told of at least one of our encounters for Savona's amusement, no matter what Lady Tamara and Nee had said and implied.

I won the race by a good length; perhaps my anger lent my steed strength. Then, I stood with a fake smile plastered on my face as everyone gathered round to congratulate me. I looked over at the Marquis; he nodded, a salute. I looked away without returning it, and caught another one of Nee's worried looks. I looked away from that, too, and excused myself as soon as I could.

In my rooms, I took up the book I had been trying to read in order to converse intelligently with my Unknown, but I couldn't concentrate on the words. They seemed to swim in and out of focus on the page—burn it, was I _crying_? I hastily wiped my eyes and berated myself for being so stupid. When had Shevraeth's friendship began to mean so much to me? It didn't, I told myself. Then why did I feel betrayed, and angry, and—sad?

_You've been outmaneuvered by an expert_, I told myself. _Remember what he is._ But I thought I'd been wrong about Shevraeth; I'd honestly thought he was a man to be trusted, ever since that awful day in the archive room. Awful, and wonderful.

Nee found me kneeling in my window seat, wrestling with my confusion. "May I ask what's wrong?" she said, her eyes dark with concern.

"I—well." There was no possible way to explain, so I just shook my head and stared out the window.

"I thought things were going well between you and Shevraeth," she continued tentatively. "But this afternoon…"

"They _were_ going well," I snapped. "Not any more."

She sighed, and finally said, "If you need anything, or to talk…"

I nodded, and she was gone. I slumped against the window, staring out it for a long time before I lifted my pen to write to the Unknown. I was suddenly very grateful for his friendship, more so than I had been in a long time. At least one man thought of me as something other than an object of sport, I thought. This was unfair, and I knew it; it was also bitter, but I did not examine why.

"My lady," Mora said, entering the room. "A runner here to see you."

"A runner?" My heart thumped. Usually runners came and went unseen; had the Unknown sent this one to find me? I followed Mora out into my parlor, where a slender young man waited.

"Countess," he said, bowing and holding out a long, wrapped package. "From the royal armorers."

Not the Unknown, then. My brief stab of disappointment faded as I unwrapped the bundle to find a black-hilted sword sheathed in dark leather. I drew it, and gasped.

It wasn't just a weapon, it was a work of art. The black grip was inlaid with thin pieces of silver that wrapped around towards the crossguard. The blade was double-edged, with a fuller running its length on each side. The only decoration, save for that on the grip, was delicate carving on the pommel. I looked closer: it depicted the Hill Folk. Despite the lack of ornamentation, the whole thing was constructed on such clean lines as to be beautiful. I swung it: it was light, well-balanced, and exactly suited to my stature. The hilt was such so that the weapon could be wielded with one or two hands.

"It's wonderful," I breathed. I swung it a few more times, then carefully put it back in its sheath, which upon closer examination, proved to inlaid with the Astiar seal.

"And you're not to worry about the money, Lady Astiar," the runner added. "It's been taken care of."

"Money?" I said, and winced at my own stupidity. Of course I'd have to pay for something like this. "You mean you settled the account with Arclor House?"

"No, lady. Someone else paid for it."

"Who?" Savona?

He hesitated. "I'm not sure you were to know, lady… but the servant wore Renselaeus livery."

"_Shevraeth_?" I breathed. The runner bowed and withdrew, leaving me grasping the sheathed sword, my head spinning. Why would Shevraeth send me a sword? He'd known I needed one—had he been planning this ever since he suggested I visit the royal armory? And more importantly, what was I going to do about it? Etiquette demanded I thank him, but I never wanted to see him again in my life.

I shoved it out of my mind. Time enough to figure that out after the ball. The next days were going to be frantic ones.


	6. Chapter 6

Author's note: Thanks to all of you who reviewed, especially those of you who pointed out that it might be the Unknown sending the sword. I hadn't even thought of that. But I think I've come up with a way to handle that.

Second revision as of 5:43 EST, 2-22.

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Shevraeth was definitely a bad habit for my health. It was the night before Bran and Nee's ball, and again, I was lying awake thinking about him. In fact, I realized, he had given me a lot of sleepless nights. The night he had come to visit me in the Athaneral prison, when I had been burning with fever. The nights I had spent on the run from him and his Renselaeus soldiers. The night I had led our people on that fool's errand against Vesingrui. The night I had written that letter, asking to talk to him. And now, this.

I struggled to hold down my resentment. It shouldn't have been hard; I knew most of those situations weren't really his fault, and I thought I'd gotten over my animosity long ago. The problem was, I wasn't sure I wanted to give up my anger this time. Shevraeth had told Savona, and just because the others hadn't _looked_ like they'd known didn't mean they were oblivious. I could be pretty sure that Tamara didn't know, and Bran didn't know, but the rest could very well be hiding the knowledge behind their Court masks. And if other people knew, chances were good Tamara would find out. Would she mock me for it? I wasn't sure. Certainly everyone would get a good laugh out of it, for my supposed—supposedly supposed—antipathy to Shevraeth was well known. They might even tease him about collecting on the wager. My stomach clenched, then relaxed. Shevraeth wouldn't have told anyone who would suggest that. His goal had been to humiliate me, not to actually kiss me. It would probably be as horrible for him as for me… my stomach clenched again.

And why had he sent me the sword? Was it a subtle insult, meant to remind me that I was used to battles? I wouldn't have expected something like that from Shevraeth, but I reminded myself that he was Court-bred. Maybe he was trying to tell me that he no longer wanted my help.

I tried to think rationally. He hadn't humiliated me in public, though he could have. He hadn't told anyone, save perhaps Savona, about our encounters during the war. Maybe it had just slipped out in conversation with the duke—though I couldn't imagine Shevraeth _ever_ saying anything he didn't mean to.

It wasn't really much of a choice. _If I was going to dip my hand into public affairs, then I had to dismiss personal considerations_. I had been willing to make my peace with him before; I couldn't be petty now. But the issue was only postponed—_not_ forgotten.

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Thanks to my ruminations about Shevraeth, I woke up the morning of the ball having had a bare two hours of sleep. It did not start until second-blue, but I had a feeling that I would not have a free minute between now and then.

I was right. I went to the baths with Nee, then grabbed a piece of fruit to eat on my way to the ballroom, where I had to make sure that the chimerical gardens were being arranged correctly. Then it was on to the kitchens to make sure that Mora's brother had everything he needed to make the creations for which he was famous; next I had to stop at the inn at which my hired musicians were playing in order to ensure that the cart that was supposed to transport them did, indeed, show up.

I was on my way back from the last stop, on foot, when it started to rain. Normally I would have kept going, but the downpour was so heavy that I slipped and lost my balance. My left ankle twinged warningly, and I ducked into the shadows of a nearby stable to take shelter.

I was woefully unaware of my surroundings, my thoughts utterly elsewhere in a way that would have gotten me killed during the war. I was thinking of the ball, and of Bran and Nee's upcoming marriage, after which I would return to Tlanth. There were parts of life in Athaneral I would miss, I admitted to myself, like the library, and some of the friends I'd made here. Maybe some of them could be persuaded to visit me in Tlanth— provided they sent advance notice, of course, and didn't bring a certain grey-eyed Marquis with them. Whether I would ever welcome him into Tlanth again, I did not know.

It took me several minutes to realize that I was overhearing a whispered conversation on the other side of the wall, but when I made out what they were saying, I sat up sharply and pressed my ear to the wood.

"… Message to Lord Flauvic," said a low, male voice.

"I will deliver it as soon as I can slip past the Renselaeus spies," promised the second man.

"Make sure you do," warned the first. "I don't envy you the Marquise's wrath if she found out you delayed."

I heard footsteps, and snuck around the corner of the stable just as the door I had been listening outside of flew open. Peering into the courtyard, I saw a man in messenger's clothing, but I could make out no badge or livery through the driving rain. The other man soon followed; he wore the device of the Merindar House.

The mysterious conversation occupied my thoughts as I waited out the rest of the rainstorm, and all the way back to Athanarel. So the Marquise of Merindar was still in contact with her son. I was almost certain, remembering his words, that he had not initiated the correspondence; was she asking for information of the Court, then? But the Merindars had their own excellent spy system, this much I knew from Azmus; so whatever was in that letter had to be a request for something only he could provide. But what?

I groaned. If I'd had my wits about me, I could have followed the second man and possibly even have intercepted his letter. But perhaps it was not too late. When I reached the palace, I turned towards the State Wing instead of the primary Guest Wing. I was soaking wet, for I'd gotten splashed by passing carriages, but I didn't want to take the time to go back to my rooms and change. Let anyone who saw me gossip. Maybe I'd start a new fashion—rain-walking. I stifled a laugh as I pictured Savona and the other young men competing to see who could get the most wet.

When I got to the State Wing, I realized I had no idea where to go. It was huge, and I didn't know in which part the Renselaeus family had their quarters. The only parts I was familiar with were the ballrooms and the library. I checked the archive room; it was empty.

Well, I'd just have to ask. I was looking around for a way back to the main corridor when I heard soft footsteps from the next room, and a moment later, Princess Elestra appeared.

I curtsied and she nodded. "Good morning, my child," she said. "Don't let me disturb you if you were enjoying the library."

"Actually, I was looking for someone, Your Highness," I said.

"My son?" she asked. "I believe he is out riding with your brother."

Good. "I wasn't looking for him in particular, actually," I said. "May I speak with you for a minute? It's about—the Merindars."

She looked surprised, but nodded in acquiescence, and gestured for me to take a seat. I tried to compose my thoughts; this would take a bit of explaining. "Last year, when I was Galdran's prisoner," I began. "One of your people contacted our spy in the court to help get me out." I hesitated, but there was no reason to keep secrets. "His name is Azmus, and a few weeks ago he came to court to help me learn what the Merindars were up to. I told Shevraeth what Azmus learned, and he told me what your spies had learned, so I know about the Merindar plot."

I thought Princess Elestra looked taken aback, but it must have been my imagination, for the next minute her face was neutral and she said. "Go on."

"Today I overheard a conversation between a messenger and a Merindar man," I said. "The first gave the second a letter from the Marquise to deliver to Lord Flauvic, and the second promised to deliver it as soon as he could slip past the Renselaeus spies. I wasn't thinking clearly or I would have followed him—" I thought I saw the Princess's eyes crinkle a little in amusement—"but perhaps if said spies were forewarned, they might have a better chance of intercepting the man or his message."

"Perhaps, indeed," she murmured. "Thank you for telling me this. I will see what I can do."

"Thank you for hearing me out," I replied, getting to my feet and curtsying. "Excuse me, please, but I have to go finish my preparations for the ball."

"We are all looking forward to it," the Princess said with a smile. "Good luck, my child."

How was it that she and the Prince, both of whom I liked and respected, could produce a son like Shevraeth? I didn't have much time to wonder about it, because I still had much to do. The rainstorm, and my subsequent conversation with the Princess, had taken too much time, and now I would have to hurry.

I did not get to stop hurrying until the bells rang for second-blue, when I stood in the center of the ballroom and watched Nee and Bran descend the grand stairs. Everyone was there except for Flauvic, and I wondered if his absence had anything to do with his mother's missive.

I did not have long to wonder. As I circulated among my guests, I saw him standing not far off. No, not standing, walking towards me. It was the first time I'd seen him since I'd visited him at Merindar House. I fought down my panic; maybe I could find something out about that note.

"Good evening, Countess," he said, bowing over my hand—and then he kissed it. I squashed the urge to snatch it away. "A triumph."

"You're too kind," I said, reclaiming my hand. "It was your idea, anyway."

"I only made a small suggestion," he replied, smiling a little. Then he held out his hand. "Would you care to dance?"

Was there a polite way to say no? Gritting my teeth, and hoping my reluctance didn't show—though it probably did—I gave him my arm. Thankfully, the musicians were playing an old dance that involved much changing of partners, and I spent nearly as much time dancing with Savona, Lord Alcanad, and a dark-haired man I did not know as I did with Flauvic.

Flauvic and I did not speak through the entire dance; in fact, the only conversation I had was with Savona. When he first saw my partner, his eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly; then, when we spun off from the main group, he leaned down, and under pretense of giving me a compliment, murmured, "Watch out."

"I know," I said, and then our steps took us back towards the others, and I was with Flauvic again.

He did not talk, but he looked; watched me with an intense gold gaze that made me blush. I was glad when we returned to the wall where I had been standing before, and I grabbed a glass of wine from a nearby table as an excuse not to dance again. He did not ask, just bowed and walked away, and I breathed more easily.

He had not been there when Nee and Bran had arrived, I was certain. Why did he wish to offer them insult? Or was the insult directed at me, through them? Had he asked me to dance just to disconcert me? If so, it had worked.

I did not get to relax for long. When I next looked up, Shevraeth was standing before me, offering his arm, though his face wore its usual inscrutable Court mask. "A dance, Countess?"

If there was no polite way to decline Flauvic's offer, there was definitely not one for the Marquis. So, once again, I gritted my teeth and walked onto the dance floor with a man I would rather have avoided.

This dance, at least, was more informative. "We failed to intercept the message," he murmured in my ear as we turned. I looked up at him.

"Did he get it?"

"Just before he came here, apparently."

"If he writes back, can you get that?"

Shevraeth looked down at me, curious. "You think he will reply?"

"No," I admitted. "Whether or not he is involved with his mother's plot, I think he's smart enough to know he's being watched." A pause. "Did you ever find out anything about his illusion?"

"My contact in Nente has told me nothing," he said. "But he was not selected by the Council of Mages."

I nodded, relieved, then realized that while we talked, the musicians had started playing another dance. I was stuck. We danced in silence for a few moments, then I said, "About the sword."

At the same time, he said, "I have some unpleasant news for you." Then he frowned. "How do you know about that?"

"What?" I said, then added, "Oh. It was delivered four days ago." I swallowed, and forced myself to add, "Thank you. It's very beautiful."

"It was not supposed to be done so early," he explained. "I meant to write a note to go with it, for I was not sure you would accept it from me." Shevraeth's grey eyes were intent on me. "If it comes to fighting, I want you to be armed."

"Well, am I now," I said. "Thank you." Then: "Do you think it will come to fighting?"

"I hope to diffuse the situation peaceably," he replied, which was no answer at all.

My thoughts drifted away as I contemplated the possibility of war. I realized I had never warned Bran and Nee, and I was about to ask Shevraeth if he thought my doing so would endanger anything when he spoke again.

"There's something I've been meaning to tell you since Galdran died," he said, "but I have not known how."

"What is it?" I said.

Shevraeth looked around. "I have been trying to find the right time and place to tell you," he said, "and this… assuredly is not it. But you have the right to know, and I fear if I delay very much longer events may get in my way."

I looked around, too, and satisfied myself that things were running smoothly. "We can go outside, if you like." He nodded, and we walked onto one of the terraces that opened off of the ballroom.

I watched him stare off into the darkness for a minute, and wondered what it was he had to tell me. Was this his unpleasant news? Whatever it was, why did I have to learn about it from him?

He turned back to me, and sighed. "I wish I could soften the news," he said. "Galdran had your mother killed because she was training to be a mage. Arthal Merindar found out when she was in Sartor, and wrote to her brother about it. I found the letter among his things."

I leaned heavily against the balustrade, trying to sort out what I'd just heard. "It wasn't grief," I murmured to myself. "He didn't burn the library out of grief."

"I suspect he burned it to keep you and your brother safe," the Marquis said. "In the event that either of you inherited her aptitude for sorcery."

I nodded mechanically, trying to swallow past the lump in my throat. Shevraeth's words brought back all the old grief and pain of my mother's death and my father's subsequent deep sadness, but I was determined not to cry in front of him. I blinked several times. "And Papa never had me taught like Bran because he was afraid that I would be a mage, too," I whispered, then choked out, "Thank you."

Shevraeth could not see my face, but he could read my tone easily enough. My resolve dissolved when he silently held out a white handkerchief, and I pressed it to my face, tears leaking noiselessly out of my eyes. "I am sorry," he murmured.

I nodded again, trying to get my breathing under control. Now I knew why Shevraeth had not wanted to tell me here; as the hostess, I had to go back inside, and soon. Maybe I could pass off my red eyes and nose as an allergy to one of the plants in the chimerical garden. "You should go," I said, "or—or people will talk."

"Mel!" I heard footsteps behind us coming closer. "Danric?" Turning, I saw my brother approaching, with Nee a few steps behind him, and hastily pasted a watery smile on my face.

He wasn't fooled. "What's going on?" He looked from me to Shevraeth, and even in the dark I could see the surprise on his face.

"Nothing," I said. "I'll tell you in the morning, Bran. Just enjoy tonight."

He looked at Shevraeth. "Danric? What's wrong?"

"I had to give your sister some bad news," he said.

"Bad? Mel, just tell me what's wrong. Is it about Tlanth, did something happen there?"

"No," I said. "It's nothing we can do anything about. Please—I'll tell you later. This is your night, I don't want to ruin it."

Bran looked uncertain. "If you're sure," he said.

"I am."

"I know better than to think I can get it out of you if you don't want to tell me, but find me if you change your mind, sister."

"I will," I promised.

"Alright," he said. "I came out here to tell you that Savona was looking for you—want me to tell him you're busy?"

"No," I said shakily. "I was going inside anyway. Just give me a few minutes."

Bran gave me another worried look, but turned and went back inside. Nee remained to press my hand sympathetically, then followed him.

"I'm sorry," Shevraeth said. "I should not have told you here. I—"

"It's fine," I cut in, and offered him back the dry, unwrinkled handkerchief. He looked at me quizzically, but offered me his arm, and we went back inside, me seething with embarrassment and shame for crying in front of him.

Savona and Elenet met us at the door. Bran must have told them, for neither of them remarked on my red face. Instead, the duke said, "Come join us in a set. It's a lively one, from Sartor." Somehow we switched places, and I ended up with Savona. As we danced, I looked over at Elenet, and my stomach twisted. I told myself it was pity for her, and I remembered what my Unknown had told me about the goldenwood throne. She would sit on it, I thought; I had seen the way she looked at him.

I perceived the rest of the ball through a haze of grief. The mimes were excellent and the scarf-dancers better, but I did not enjoy any of it. I forced myself to smile and laugh with the others, but I felt like I was wearing a mask. Only when I danced again with Savona was my smile real, and I was thankful for his kindness.

Finally the guests started to dissipate. Most of them complimented me on a splendid evening, and the night before I would have been delighted to have avoided social blunders. Now, though, all I wanted to do was go back to my rooms. To cry, perhaps, though I hoped not, and later just sit. Eventually I would have to figure out how to break the news about our mother's death to Bran.

I might write to my Unknown, I thought, guiltily remembering the unanswered letter sitting on my desk, and for the first time that night since Shevraeth had broken the news to me I felt a twinge of excitement. Had he been here? Surely he had; nearly everyone had. Perhaps I had danced with him. I should have worn a white rose, I thought, and seen who looked conscious.

When the last guest left the ballroom, I stumbled out, blinking against the sun's first rays. My feet ached, and I wondered if I'd have the energy to go to the baths before I went into bed. Probably not, I decided. I'd be lucky to even reach my bed…

The sight of steaming listerblossom tea waiting in the parlor stayed my steps, and I poured a cup, hoping it would ease the dull headache that had started. I had just poured a second cup when the tapestry from my bedroom twitched, just a little.

My new sword was on the other side of the room. I started towards it, but froze when Azmus stumbled through the tapestry, his dagger drawn.

"Thank goodness you're safe," he said, then collapsed on his knees.


	7. Chapter 7

Author's note: Once again, thank you to all of my reviewers. I've noticed that my posting of this story has generated a higher hit count for my other stories, and I encourage you to check them out if you like Lord of the Rings.

To those of you who said you liked the way I used parts from the book: I confess that my original plan was to not change the plot at all, mostly out of a lack of creativity. I'm not sure how my new version is going to hold up, though.

Just a head's-up: there's going to be some "bonus material" with this fic.

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I knew it was exhaustion, not obeisance, so I refilled my cup of tea and held it out to me. I thought that tired as he was, he wouldn't care that I'd already drunk from it, and I was right; he seized it with trembling fingers and downed it in one gulp. I refilled it twice more before he spoke again.

"Forgive me, but I have ridden for the last day and a half…"

"I understand," I reassured him. "Now what's this about me being in danger?"

He put the cup down. "Two and a half days ago I overheard a conversation between a Merindar man and a Grumareth servant. The Merindars are marching, marching on Remalna-city."

"But—how?" I said. "They don't have an army!"

"They have allied with Denlieff," he said. "Soldiers from that kingdom are currently housed in two of the northern garrisons, whose commanders apparently turned traitor. As soon as the last of them arrive, they plan to march across Remalna to the capital."

"Denlieff?" I repeated blankly. "Why?"

Azmus' eyes darkened. "I did not discover that until it was nearly too late. The Marquise and the Duke have made a pact with the Denlieffis: the soldiers help them defeat the army, and in return they can take their payment in colorwoods. They already have the kinthus to kill the Hill Folk," he added. "They are riding for the woods even now, so that they might have their wages even if the battles go poorly."

"Kinthus?" I breathed, and then all my thoughts narrowed to one intent. "I have to warn the Hill Folk!"

"Wait, my lady," Azmus said. "I told you I heard this two and a half days ago. Yet I waited for an extra day, delaying—because I heard your name."

"My name? What did they say?"

"That I could not discover," he told me, "though I stayed as long as I dared. But apparently you are at the center of some plot. You know nothing of this?" I shook my head, and his eyes darkened. "Then they must plan to harm you, or capture you."

"But why? They could try to use me as a figurehead to put on the throne, I suppose, but the Marquise would never be content to be a shadow ruler. She would want to wear the crown."

Azmus pursed his lips. "You are popular at Court and have many friends. Perhaps they plan to force you to use your influence to win them allies. Or perhaps they wish to hold you hostage." He hesitated. "They may simply wish to kill you, as an example so no others take on a Merindar ruler."

"Did you hear anything about Bran?"

"I did not," he admitted. "But that does not mean it was not spoken. I would suggest, my lady—" He shook his head.

"Suggest what?" I said.

"That your and your brother remain in Athaneral until the situation is resolved. Someone can be sent to the Hill Folk, someone the Merindars aren't watching for."

"But I know them," I said. "I can find them, and they might listen to me."

"Then do not go alone," he said. "Take an escort. If the Renselaeuses knew of your mission, they would lend you soldiers."

"No," I said immediately, shaking my head. Then: "Do they know of the invasion?"

"They probably do," he said. "Their spies could not have failed to detect the troop build-up in the north, and an intelligent person could have put that information together with the other reports that are circulating. But I am certain they do not know about the plot to Hill Folk."

"That's why I have to go, then," I said. "And go alone. If the Merindars are looking for me, I'd be too conspicuous with an escort. And they'd slow me down." I looked up, and was not surprised to see Mora listening to the conversation. "I need my riding gear," I said. "And a fast horse. And tea and food for Azmus." She nodded, and was gone. "Go to the Renselaeuses." I told Azmus. "Make sure they know. They'll have to raise the army. And then warn Bran…" I fumbled for pen and paper, and wrote,

_I have gone to warn the Hill Folk. The Merindars are trying to get you; watch out_.

More than that I could not commit to paper, which was so easily intercepted.

As I changed my clothes, tearing my ballgown in my haste, Mora stood outside the tapestry with a palace runner and told me what route to take to Orbanith, and where I should change horses. Before Azmus left, he tried to dissuade me from riding there.

"The river road is too dangerous if the Merindars have people watching for you," he said.

"They'll never expect me there," I said, pulling my tunic over my head. "They don't know that I know." I yanked my blackweave boots onto my feet and jammed my hat onto my head, pulling it low so it would hide my red hair. Then I grabbed my gloves from the low table next to my bed and pushed through the tapestry. Mora and the palace runner were talking in low voices, and Azmus looked grave.

"I will go and speak to Their Highnesses," he said. "But I would ask that you reconsider."

I shook my head again, and had to repin my braid. "This isn't as dangerous as what I did last year," I said. "I'm the only one who can find them in time, and if they're not warned, it makes the whole war we fought meaningless." I gave up on trying to hide my hair with the hat and pulled my cloak over my head, then stuffed my hat over it. It occurred to me that with the brim pulled so low, I must look a little like Shevraeth.

I knew Azmus was not satisfied, but he nodded once. "Speed and safety on your journey, my lady," he said. Then he was gone.

As Mora handed me a bag of money and clothing, I was suddenly reminded of Shevraeth telling me last year that I'd have to remember to bring spare gear on my rides. As I strapped my sword on, a little awkwardly, I wondered how much he knew. Then I shoved aside the thought and handed the note I'd written to Mora.

"Be safe, my lady," she said, her eyes solemn. "If anyone asks about you, I will tell them you are sick."

I thanked her and slipped out to the front of the Residence wing, where I found the horse, so fresh it was dancing as the stablehand held its reins. At least one of us had energy.

"Luck, Countess," the boy whispered as he turned the mount over to me, and I thanked him. Then I swung into the saddle and was riding through Remalna-city within minutes.

The sun was in my eyes briefly as we cantered eastward, but it was soon covered by rainclouds. As the rain splashed my face, I was vividly reminded of the last time I'd fled Remalna-city on horseback in the rain. I kept an eye on the road ahead, watching out for groups of riders—but whether it was because I was tired, or I was lost in my memories, I forgot to watch my back. I did not notice the approaching horsemen until I heard their hoofbeats behind me, and quickly coming closer.

I looked over my shoulder long enough to see that there were four of them, and they were soldiers, before I nudged my mount into a gallop. The leader shouted something to me, but the wind carried it away. I veered off the road, riding cross-country through the fields, but they followed, gaining on me as my lighter horse bogged down in the mud. I had to return to the river road, where at least I could match their pace.

Is this how it had been for my mother, I wondered? Had she had a chance to outrun her attackers? And were my pursuers Merindars, as hers had been? Who else would be chasing me?

The road went into a series of sinuous curves up ahead, and I knew from last year that it also branched right after the first curve. I tried to nudge my tired horse faster, hoping to pull far enough ahead so I could turn off the main road and trick them into thinking I had ridden ahead. Then she stumbled and rolled onto her side, and I flew off into the ditch and hit my head on a rock.

I woke up to the sound of approaching hoofbeats, and sat up just in time to see the four riders pull even with me on the road and stop. Any hope that they had not seen me vanished when the leader dismounted and walked over to the ditch. "Get out of there," he said.

I scrambled to my feet and backed up until my feet hit the edge of the ditch. None of them wore livery, but they all had drawn swords. I pretended to trip, scrabbling in the mud with one hand as my other grabbed a stone beneath my cloak. Then I straightened up, lobbed the stone at the leader and the mud at the man next to him, then scrabbled up the embankment and fled into the wood.

I heard curses behind me and pursuing feet, and then I saw that I was on some sort of path. Right up ahead it curved, and descended into a dense thicket of thorny leaves. This time there was no horse to stumble, and as I rounded the bend I threw myself off of the trail and hid in the shadow of a low-growing bush. Boots pounded by, inches from my nose: one, two, three, four pairs. I listened until I heard their howls as they blundered into the thicket, then scrambled out from under the bush and fled back towards the road.

It didn't take long for them to realize I wasn't in the thicket. By the time I reached the far side of the ditch, they were charging up the path behind me. I tried to leap to the road, landed halfway down the far bank, and fell heavily, my left ankle twinging. The men burst out of the woods behind me, and I scrambled up to the road, my sword drawn. My horse was on the far side of theirs; I slashed once, twice, and the bridles on two of their mounts drooped towards the ground. Then I was at my horse, and mounted—except a rough hand grabbed my ankle and nearly yanked me out of the saddle. I twisted around and swung at him with my sword. He ducked and swore; before he could raise his own sword, I hit him on the side of the head with the flat of my blade, and he fell to the ground with a _squelch!_

Two of the other men had scrambled onto their horses while I fought their companion; now they blocked my escape as the third approached me on foot. "Off the horse," he snarled, and I ducked away from him, trotting towards the other two. They exchanged uneasy looks and gripped their own swords more tightly. But I did not plan to go between them; I stopped just out of range of the one on the left and reached out with my own sword, slicing through the strap connecting the reins to the bit. I misjudged and accidentally nicked the horse's cheek, and it reared, dumping its rider off. I veered to the left and urged my horse into a gallop, flying down the road as I heard the last man come after me.

His horse was fresher, and he drew alongside me, swinging his sword as if he meant to brain me out of the saddle. But I ducked and his aim went wild, slashing me across the arm. I wobbled in my seat, bringing my own sword up unsteadily to block his next blow. The vibrations rumbled up my arm and numbed it, and I almost dropped my sword. He smirked at me and swung at my head again; somehow I ducked under his guard, and my blade bit deeply into the joining of his shoulder and neck. He yelled and fell back; I tugged on the reins, encouraging my horse to go faster. But when I looked over my shoulder, no one was following me.

I knew I could get a fresh horse in the next town, so I rode at a full-out gallop until the site of the ambush was far behind me; then I slowed to a canter. My heart was pounding from the battle, and my arm stung. I could not stop to bandage it, but I knew it wasn't a very bad wound.

I crested a hill and frowned. Up ahead was a single rider, riding east at nearly the same pace I was. I'd seen him far ahead when I'd left Athaneral. Any livery he wore was hidden by a cloak and a metal helmet of the kind worn by nobles' messengers.

Had Flauvic sent a reply to his mother's message after all?

When the rider descended into the village in the next valley, I did too, following him to the inn. I got closer to him, but the rain kept me from seeing clearly. I would have stopped at that inn anyway for a fresh horse, but now had to find out who the mysterious rider was, and warn the Renselaeuses if Flauvic was in on his mother's plan.

The ground seemed very far away as I dismounted and asked for a fresh horse, then stumbled into the warm inn. A maid asked me what I wanted to eat, and I asked her where the other messenger was. "Third room on the left," she said. "Will you be staying to eat with him?"

I nodded, then shook my head. "I—have to consult with him about our plans,"  
I offered tiredly, then walked down the hall. I was too weary to think of a plan; I would just peek around the tapestry, and see who it was… I took hold of the cloth with trembling fingers and twitched it aside.

The room was empty.


	8. Chapter 8

Author's note: To my reviewers. Ahem.

I would like to point out that a _good_ story has action, mystery, adventure, everything else… and romance. Not just romance. That being said, the fluff in this story will come in due time—and also remember that the plot so far has not deviated too much from the original, hmm?

Also, a lot of this was filler, because I wanted to make it longer and not go on to the next part. But there's a lot going on in the next part, so if the next chapter goes up and there seems to be a gap, check back here; there'll probably be an addition to the end of this one.

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I looked around, blinking twice to clear my vision. The cushions were stacked neatly in the corner and there was no Fire Stick burning in the grate.

Leaning back into the hallway, I carefully counted the doors. One… two… three… four. Feeling foolish, I walked to the next door, pulled the tapestry aside, and looked inside.

Looking back at me was the Marquis of Shevraeth.

"Oh," I muttered tiredly. "It's just you." I made a vague movement back towards the hallway, but the substance seemed to have drained out of my muscles, and all I could do was collapse against the door frame. He crossed the room quickly, took my arm, and guided me inside. It was my left arm, and I winced. He looked down. His eyes widened as he saw that his right hand was bloody.

"How did you get that?" Shevraeth said, drawing my sleeve up over my elbow until the long gash was visible.

"I was attacked," I said. "Four men on horseback—I think they were Merindar."

"You decided, then, not to remain in Athaneral?"

I frowned. "Why would I do that? Did Azmus talk to you?" But I had sent Azmus to the Royal Residence Wing just as I had departed, and yet Shevraeth had gotten here ahead of me. Had he ridden another way while I was dealing with the Merindar brigands? I didn't think it was possible, yet why else who he assume I would remain in Athaneral unless he'd been talking to Azmus about the kidnapping threat? My head spun, and not just from confusion. I sank abruptly to the cushion, my legs simply giving out.

"Azmus? Your spy?" Shevraeth said, then shook his head. "Drink this first." He handed me a steaming mug; I took it with my good hand.

"I'm not going to pass out," I muttered, but in truth I was close. Instead of arguing, I sipped at the coffee, only realizing I had burned my tongue after I put the empty mug down. Shevraeth stepped to the tapestry and called for the maid, and in a minute she entered, carrying two bowls, a basket of bread, a steaming ewer of water, and another basket; this last she handed to Shevraeth. I eyed the food, wondering if it was worth reaching for, and decided it was.

"You did not get my note?" said the Marquis. I looked at him more closely, and noticed for the first time little lines of tension around his eyes.

I shook my head and swallowed. "What note?" I said. "I left as soon as Azmus came to me. Did he find you before you left?"

"It appears that our respective messages crossed in transit," he said wryly, and for some reason it seemed that he was suddenly more at ease. "No, he did not. May I ask what the nature of his message was, to send you on such a ride?"

"The Hill Folk," I said. "The Denlieffi soldiers are being payed in colorwoods, and they're going to use kinthus on the Hill Folk to get it! They're going to break our Covenant, just like Galdran! They're going to _kill_ the Hill Folk!" I clenched my fist, and the movement caused a spurt of blood to shoot down my arm; taking a deep breath, I forced my fingers to open.

"Mercenaries, actually," Shevraeth murmured, moving around the table with the basket to kneel next to me. I could see now that it was full of bandages.

"What?"

"The Denlieffi soldiers are mercenaries," he explained, reaching for my arm.

"I can do that," I said, snatching the basket away. Then his words caught up with me, and I snorted. "I wish the Marquise as much luck with 'em as we had."

"What do you mean?"

"We hired Denlieffi mercenaries, too," I said, dipping one of the bandages in the water and wiping the blood off of my arm. "Only, they took our coin and ran. It's why we could barely pay our taxes. And why we only had villagers to face you." I was too tired to care that this was a subject I'd tried to avoid in the past, but as the silence stretched, I tried to remember if I'd said anything amiss.

When Shevraeth finally spoke, it was not what I expected to hear. "May I hear the story, when this business is finished?"

I looked up. "What?"

"Of the war."

"You were there," I said, discovering that winding a bandage with one hand is not as easy as it seems.

"Yes, but I was on the other side," he pointed out, as if I needed reminding. "I would like to hear what your experiences were."

"Nothing good," I said shortly, then relented, though I couldn't see why he'd want the tale. "If you don't mind being bored to death by a bunch of mud and rain." I tried to wrap the bandage around my arm again, then threw it down it in exasperation as the inner end came untucked, and looked up to see a gleam of humor in Shevraeth's eyes.

"To resume," he said, reaching for the basket. I closed my eyes and leaned my head against the wall, willing the patterns on the backs of my eyelids to fade into darkness. "I received word from a messenger that the Merindars were on the move, and left immediately. The message I wrote you asked you to remain in Athaneral and help my parents keep order there."

"Why?" I said, still with my eyes closed. "Seems you could find lots of people better at governing than me."

I felt his hands pause in their bandaging. "Not as many as you might think," he said. "Not that are trustworthy, and utterly without partisanship."

"Well," I said, taken aback. "Maybe not. So—where are you going?"

"First to rendezvous with my people," he said. "Ultimately, to the Merindar camp."

"Don't you need an army for that?"

"I have been sending Remalnan and Renselaeus ridings north for some weeks, since the reports of enemy forces first began to circulate," he said. "They are in place, and I have only to summon then." I felt a light pressure against my arm as he tied the bandage off.

"Well," I said again. "I suppose that's that, then…" I opened my eyes to see Shevraeth adjust his right glove, then pull on the left one; he must have removed them to work on my arm.

"Not quite," he said drily. "There is the little matter of the brigands on the road. Why were they pursuing you?"

"Because of my name, I suppose," I said. "Or my friends." I told him what Azmus had overheard, and waited for him to try convince me that it was too dangerous. But he didn't, only looked down at me thoughtfully.

"Has it occurred to you that the Marquise's plot may be a result of our recent… understanding?"

I frowned. "You mean she wants me as a hostage to use against you?"

"Precisely."

"Guess I should have been ruder, then," I muttered. "Would've saved us all a lot of trouble."

The corner of Shevraeth's mouth quirked, but all he said was, "I suggest you eat before it gets cold."

I realized I was starving, and pulled one of the bowls towards me. Being in the warm room, out of the rain, and sitting down had cleared my head to the point where I was no longer dizzy; now I was just tired.

"Why this road? There are faster ways to Tlanth." The Marquis's voice broke into my thoughts.

I shook my head. "I'm not going to Tlanth," I said. "It's too far, and hopefully our people can keep the Merindar wagons out. I'm going to Orbanith. Mora and the runners told me this was the fastest way."

"Warning the Hill Folk in Orbanith will also warn those elsewhere in Remalna?"

I nodded. "I think so. No one knows for sure, but I think they talk mind-to-mind. I also think they can travel great distances very quickly when they need to, because sometimes you see one, and then others suddenly appear…"

"Which route were you planning to take?"

I told him, and he looked thoughtful. "There is," he said, the drawl on his words letting me know he was choosing them carefully, "a way to cut some distance off of your journey."

"You mean a shortcut?" I regretted the words as soon as they left my mouth. My face burned, and I knew it was probably scarlet.

"If you like," he agreed, and I blushed even more fiercely, realizing he'd probably misconstrued my words. I looked up, expecting to see mirth in those grey eyes, but Shevraeth's expression was impossible to interpret. I listened to him explain the directions for the cross-country route, and slowly I felt my face returning to normal.

He looked down at the bandage. "You should not get that wet," he said. "Do you have dry clothes?"

"Of course," I said, then blushed again: more memories of that vivid race, and of the grievance I still held with Shevraeth. But I knew this was not the time to bring that subject up.

Shevraeth gestured to the next room. "I suggest you change. We'll leave together at the next time change, and ride to the cross-roads."

I was happy to get out of my wet clothes, though I knew they'd only grow cold and musty in my saddlebags, and I'd not want to put them back on. But for now the dry cloth felt good against my skin.

I'd actually been looking forward to riding with Shevraeth for a while, despite the disagreement still between us, but when I returned from the next room he was gone. So was my cloak, which I had left in a sodden bundle by the table. In its place was a folded pile of black cloth.

I unfolded Shevraeth's waterproof cloak and slung it around my shoulders, smiling as I pictured the elegant Marquis riding in a dirty cloak a foot too short for him, though I knew I would not come off much better. But the smile vanished when I pictured Shevraeth leaving his cloak and taking my own, and it was with a strong sense of confusion that I mounted a fresh horse and returned to the road. I did not see the Marquis ahead of me, though I looked.

I dared not halt, not when I knew that the Merindar wagons were somewhere on the road behind me, and slept on the back of my mounts, stopping only to change horses and buy food. The rain did not let up; the roads turned to churned mud, but the cloak kept me dry. When I had to stay awake or risk falling off of my mountain pony, I thought about Tlanth, and Athaneral, and Bran and Nee and my friends. I had never warned them, and the thought that they were ignorant of the approaching threat ate at me, so much so that I considered sending a messenger back to Remalna-city. But if the Merindars actually got that far, they'd hear of it long before; and any message I sent might be intercepted.

I rode for another whole day and through two nights, all without encountering any more Merindar men. On the third morning I reached the mountains and slid off the pony, leaning against its solid flank until my head stopped spinning. I'd sensed the Hill folk as soon as I entered the forest, as tiny flickers on the edges of my visions and the haunting notes of reed pipes, and now I felt them all around me, but I did not see them.

Looking back down the road, I saw the wagons in the far distance.

My voice was rough with cold and fatigue, and never sounded good under the best circumstances, but the Hill Folk never minded—if they could even hear us that clearly. Even the worst voices seemed halfway decent when singing their melodies and harmonies. I sang the things I'd known as long as I could remember, the strange strains I'd first heard my mother singing, and later my father humming—but never after her death. I sang the songs that had haunted my dreams in Tlanth, and that I had missed so desperately in Athaneral. I sang what had always calmed me when I'd ridden out, hatless, shoeless and angry from Tlanth after some argument; and when the Hill Folk appeared, I told them as best I could of the men coming to kill them and take their woods. I told them of the Merindar plot, and of Shevraeth's army going to meet the foreign mercenaries. It was hard to put everything into words, because our concepts were so much different from theirs; still, I tried, talking until my throat was raw, telling them that if they would only go to safety we—the Remalnans, or the loyal ones at least—would take care of the immediate threat, and then make sure that the Covenant was honored. Finally I stopped, and sensed that I was alone, the Hill Folk having taken silent communion with each other and left.

I stumbled back to where my pony was placidly chewing the sparse grass and leaned against her broad side, taking deep breaths, smelling the forest scents that I had known all my life. I had no more food, but the smell was almost as good. At least, it cleared my head, and when I opened my eyes again I was no longer so dizzy.

I wrapped myself in the cloak and fingered the pommel of my sword, knowing what was to come next. Whoever had made the sword, I thought, had rendered the Hill Folk nearly perfectly, all except for the eyes, which I did not think any artist would be able to draw or portray. But for someone who had probably never seen them, he had captured them startlingly accurately. I admired his art—but felt pity for him, too, if my last thought was correct. I would not give up knowing the Hill Folk for anything.

The cloak and the sword led my thoughts to Shevraeth, and I wondered where he was—still riding to meet his people, or now confronting the Merindars? I knew he was probably one of the most intelligent people I had ever met—but the Marquise nearly matched him in cunning. I fingered my ring and wished safety for him, his people, the Hill Folk, our people back in Tlanth, and everyone in Athaneral—Bran, Nee, my Unknown, Savona, Mora, Elenet, even Tamara.

Then I mounted my pony and slowly rode towards the road I had taken up the mountain. The Merindars were here for the colorwoods, and it was up to me to stop them: I had just sent the forest's protectors away.


	9. Chapter 9

I met the wagons on the road below after a two-hour ride that went far too quickly for my liking. The road was a switchback down the mountain, so I saw them before they saw me.

We met on the first level of the switchback, with the wagons strung out around the turn. I stayed on my sturdy little mountain pony, not knowing if I could stand on my own.

I had no plan. There was no way I could defeat forty warriors in armed combat—I'd be lucky to defeat one. My only hope was to somehow delay them long enough for the Hill Folk to get safely away, but I did not know how much time they needed. They moved quickly enough, but kinthus smoke was lethal to them even a full day's ride away. _I should have set some traps across the road or something_, I thought, then shook my head. Even if I'd had the time, I'd had enough experience with traps to last me a lifetime.

"Halt," I said, when the first wagon was close enough to hear me—or I tried to. My voice came out as a hoarse croak. I cleared my throat and tried again. "Halt!"

The driver scowled. "What do you think you're doing? Out of the road!"

"No," I said, crossing my arms over my chest. "You can't come this way."

The man next to him fingered the long sword that lay across his lap. "We're on business for the Duke of Grumareth," he said. "I don't recall him mentioning appointing a gatekeeper on the mountain roads." The other drivers laughed.

"When the Duke's business involves burning kinthus near Hill Folk, it's my business, too," I said. They stopped laughing immediately.

"Now, who are you to know about that?" said the first driver, as he dismounted from his seat.

"It doesn't matter," muttered the driver of the second wagon, who was standing next to him. "Just get 'er out of the way."

"Meliara Astiar, Countess of Tlanth," I said.

Their faces became very still, and those within earshot murmured to each other. I knew something had just happened, but I wasn't sure why my name was significant.

Then the first driver said, "Isn't she the one the Marquise wants?"

If the Merindar men attacking me on the road hadn't been ample confirmation of Azmus's suspicions, this was. My heart pounded—and then pounded again as I saw the gleam of light off of something metallic in the distance. I squinted, and then opened my eyes in surprise. What I had seen was the metal helms and shields of a group of riders.

I looked quickly away so the drivers wouldn't wonder what I was staring at. Either they were reinforcements for the wagoneers… or they might be allies.

"Yes," said the second driver. "Her Grace sent some men to Athanarel for her, but I'm thinking there might be a reward for us if we bring 'er in."

"Change in plans, Yer Ladyship," said the first driver. "You're comin' with us." He took a step towards me, and I pulled the pony back. "And you'd best come quietly."

"And if I don't?" I said.

"Then you won't like our manner of bringin' ye." He chuckled nastily, and his fellow drivers joined in.

I stared at him, considering my options. I could run, but I wouldn't get very far on a mountain pony—and then they'd be free to burn the Hill Folk out. I could surrender, but they might choose to finish their job here before dragging me back to Arthal Merindar.

But if I could convince them that I was too much trouble to hold on to for long…

I dismounted and drew my sword. "No."

Some of the riders guffawed, but the first driver stared at me, then went back for his sword. Then he and the second driver advanced on me.

They were each a head and a half taller than I was, and more heavily built as well—nearly everyone was. But we were equal in reach, thanks to the longsword Shevraeth had given me. Whatever advantage I normally would have had from speed and nimbleness was lost to fatigue.

He struck. I blocked. He struck again, and I parried, thankful that whatever honor these people had extended to fighting one at a time.

I didn't bother trying to attack, just kept blocking, but the blows shook my sword arm until it was numb. Suddenly my pony made a soft chuffing noise, and the second driver's eyes darted to the left. I ducked out of the way just as two burly men lunged for my arms. They'd snuck up on me while we'd been fighting. _So much for honor_, I thought.

I backed up before I could be surrounded. "This is your last chance to come quietly before we hurt you," the first driver warned.

I knew that to make them take be straight back to the Marquise, I had to fight, and keep fighting. "No," I said again, and gripped my sword more tightly.

The two men charged at me, swords drawn, and I somehow parried both of their blows. My own blade slipped past the first man's defenses and slashed down his arm. He backed up, his eyes narrowed.

"Well now," he said softly. "This changes things. Maybe you're not worth as much to the Marquise as we'd thought, hmm?"

Just as I was realizing that this was a very bad spot I'd gotten myself into, the sound of thundering hooves came from the road beyond the wagon. We all froze—then, as the blue, black and white garb of the Renselaeus riders became visible, the men ran back to the wagons, cursing.

I counted eight ridings as they surrounded the wagons in less than a minute. One group of outriders tried to make a break for the forest, but another riding was waiting there and herded them back towards their companions. After a tense moment, there was a loud clatter as the wagoneers dropped their weapons on the ground.

A man wearing the insignia of the wing's commander rode up and bowed. "Forgive us for delaying when you were in peril, my lady," he said. "We could not get into position until the wagons had halted."

"It's fine," I assured him, not about to quibble when he'd saved my life. "I thank you for your rescue."

He bowed again. "We await your orders."

"The prisoners should go to Shev-- to the Marquis, I suppose," I said, and he nodded. "The paving stones can go to the village at the bottom of the hills—they need them for the roads. And then maybe in return the villagers can drive the wagons to the sea and dump the kinthus in—it'll turn into wood." I wished I could send the kinthus back to Remalna-city or ahead to the army, for the healers, but it was the wrong part of the plant.

The commander bowed, and the ridings separated, most going with the prisoners, two accompanying the wagons. I watched them split up and realized I ought to be concerned about where I was going, too, but I was too tired to care.

One of the ridings approached me, and I saw with happy surprise that it was led by Nessaren. She smiled and saluted, then said, "If you please, Lady Meliara, you're to come with us."

"Come with you?" I repeated. "Where?"

"To the nearest inn, my lady, where you're to sleep. And then we're to escort you…"

I didn't hear where she said we were going; it took all of my concentration just to remount, and then stay on, my pony. They closed in around me as we rode down the mountain, keeping me from falling off, and in a dazed blur we rode to the inn. We went inside; I stayed awake long enough to let one of Nessaren's riders rebind my arm, which had started bleeding again. Then I walked over to the bed and…

I woke to the welcome prospect of hot food and dry clothes. I'd slept for at least two time-changes, judging by the sunlight coming through the windows, and when I went outside, it was to find Nessaren and her riding ready and waiting.

"You're my escort?" I said as they bowed. "To where?"

"Wherever you wish to go, my lady," she said. "To the camp. Or back to Athanarel, if you wish it."

I considered for only a second. Shevraeth had asked me to assist his parents in Athanarel—but that had been days ago, and surely they had everything in hand.

"To the camp," I said.

It took us the better part of two days to reach the army, near the northern border. I was anxious for news, but Nessaren and her riding knew little more than I did. Finally, in late afternoon of the second day, we rode into camp, over which were flying the flags of Remalna and Renselaeus. Ridings from both soldieries mingled together among the mud, and some even bowed as we passed.

We stopped and dismounted in front of a large tent. The rest of the riding dispersed, going to care for their horses, and Nessaren and I went inside. I nearly collided with a runner as he made his exit. "Sorry, my lady." He bowed hastily, then left.

Did everyone know who I was? I looked down at myself. My clothes were anonymous enough, not bearing the Astiar badge, and not the green and white of Tlanth. Yet everyone who was looking at me seemed to recognize me. "It's—" a scribe whispered, and then his companion elbowed him.

Alerted by the sudden silence, Shevraeth looked up from his cross-legged position in the center of the tent, and something in his face eased. He stood and bowed. "My congratulations on your triumph, Lady Meliara," he said.

My face grew hot. "It wasn't a triumph," I muttered. "All I did was manage to convince forty wagoneers to try and kill me."

His eyes gleamed. "But it was heroically done." The others in the tent laughed. Shevraeth added, "The soldiers in the mess have begun toasting you as the Merindar-Slayer."

My face burned. "But I didn't do anything!"

"Nonetheless, I'm afraid you've acquired a reputation that's going to be very hard to live down, my lady." One of the runners picked up a pile of papers, and then three wingleaders left, and we were alone.

I sank down on the cushions. "Are they really toasting me?"

He nodded, mouth twitching. "They've even made up a ballad about it."

"But that's ridiculous!" I protested. "All I did was ride. Anyone could do that."

"Ability and inclination do not often coincide," he said. His face was perfectly blank, but I sensed humor as he added, "Your courage has become legendary. Even more so than it did last year, as by now no doubt the ridings who accompanied you will be spreading the tale of how you deliberately tried to make yourself a prisoner."

"Just what I need," I muttered, absently smoothing the cloth beneath my hand. Then I looked down and realized it was Shevraeth's cloak. "Thank you," I said, nearly tripping as I stood up to unclasp it, and handed it back. "It came in handy. But—" I hesitated. For some reason I couldn't bring myself to ask why he'd done it.

Shevraeth misconstrued my worry. "Yours is over there," he said, gesturing to a neatly folded pile of cloth. I felt a twinge of guilt for giving his back sopping wet and muddy when mine was obviously clean and dry.

"Was there a battle?" I asked, reaching for a steaming cup of coffee that appeared as if by magic at my elbow. In reality it'd probably been there before, I'd just been too tired to notice.

He nodded. "Briefly. They did not expect to be attacked."

I fidgeted with my ring. I had been wearing it at the ball, and hadn't taken it off before I left. "You captured the leaders?"

"Yes. The Marquise and her daughter were involved, as well as the Duke of Grumareth, but they also had support from Barons Chaskar and Hurnaev and Baroness Orgaliun."

"Did you ever find out what the Marquise wanted with me?"

Shevraeth shook his head. "Nearly everyone seems to have known of the plot, but no one could give me a reason for it."

"And the Marquise won't tell you, either?"

His mouth twisted wryly. "The Marquise is beyond speaking. She took poison."

I wasn't sure if I was surprised or not. "And Fialma?"

"Apparently possessed of more gumption than her mother. She tried to poison me."

I nodded, meaning to ask more questions—but then I saw, folded on the table, a map. In the center of the folded panel was the town of Lumm, and I immediately recollected the wager, and that I'd resolved to confront him about it when this was all over.

It wasn't all over, and this wasn't the time, I knew that. Yet suddenly I decided I could find out what happened from one of the Renselaeus riding commanders. I still hadn't decided how I felt that he'd told Savona about that unpaid wager.

"Well," I said, climbing to my feet, anxious to leave. "I'd better go and leave you to your preparations."

"Wait." I stopped, almost at the tent flap, and turned. Shevraeth was watching me closely, his eyes worried. "What's wrong?" he said. "Something's been bothering you since before we left Athaneral. If it's the Merindars—"

"It's about the wager," I blurted out.

He raised an eyebrow. "This is a rather inconvenient time for me to leave Court business."

"The _other_ wager," I said, and had the satisfaction of seeing him look surprised. I was pretty sure this was a stupid thing to be doing, but I pressed ahead. "Savona knew. How could he have known unless you told him?" I turned and paced the tent. "He knew, and he probably laughed at me, and you and he probably laughed at me—and—and—I trusted you!" I blushed. "I mean, I still do trust you, but—"

"Meliara." I stopped. "I—" he paused. "May I explain?"

I shrugged. "Go ahead."

"Neither of us ever laughed at you," he said. "Russav is my oldest friend, and I confide certain things to him that I don't tell anyone else. But in this case he asked me. I did not volunteer the information."

"Oh," I muttered, feeling foolish. "Wait—why did he ask?"

"He observed a certain tension between us," said Shevraeth, "and asked me if I knew why it existed. I believed that wager was one of the reasons, so I told him about it."

"Oh," I said again, not knowing what else to say. Then I added, "The wager didn't really bother me, if you want to know the truth. I thought it was a joke. I was just angry because—well." I paused, trying to figure out how to say what I wanted to say. "I realized I consider you a friend," I said finally, "and I thought you had been just pretending, for, I don't know, your own amusement. I thought that our, well, rapport since that day in the archives was false, and—I realized how much it had come to mean to me."

"I am honored," he said sincerely. "But before you go on, I fear I have done something else that may make you very angry."

"What is it?" I said, suddenly overwhelmed with weariness. "Did you tell Tamara, too? Because if you did, I don't really care."

Shevraeth's mouth quirked upwards. "Not quite," he said, and started pulling his gloves off one finger at a time. "I realize this may be a rather inopportune moment, but I think you would prefer to learn from me than some other way…" He was half-turned away from me, but I could see him reach for a small object on a nearby table, though I couldn't see what it was.

He turned back to me and extended his right hand, offering me something. It was a white rose.

I stared at it. I have to admit that for the first few seconds I didn't understand at all. Was this something to assure me that whatever he was about to tell me was the truth? And then I saw the ring on his finger, the littlest finger on his right hand. Gold, carved with laurel leaves, set with a nightstar.

My hand was halfway to the rose, but I stopped, shocked, with my arm extended. I seemed to look at that ring for an eternity. Finally Shevraeth reached out, took my hand by the wrist, and curled my fingers gently around the flower.

"You," I whispered. A whole slew of emotions chased each other through my head. I didn't know what to think, or feel, and I definitely didn't know what to say.

Well, I knew what to feel.

"Yes," he said. "And there's one other thing you should know."

I seemed to have lost the power of speech, and raised an eyebrow.

"That wager was not a joke," he said.

Finally, I looked up into his face. He was smiling a little. "No?" I said.

"No," he murmured. His hand was still clasped around mine, and now he slid it up my arm to my back, and reached for my other hand. I closed my eyes as he bent his head towards mine, and shivered as he kissed me one, two, three times, very gently. My arms were around him, and when I felt him pull away I opened my eyes and looked up. He was watching me with such a mixture of love and apprehension in his eyes that it made my knees weak.

"Good," I said, and slid my hands into his hair to pull his face down to mine again.

Author's note: See? I resisted the urge to end this chapter after "Gold, carved with laurel leaves, set with a nightstar." Although I seriously considered it.

I realize this probably isn't as original as people were expecting, but I do like to go by the book. My apologies if the fluff didn't live up to your expectations.

In a previous chapter I mentioned the possibility of "bonus material", and I would like you opinion on that possibility now. There's an accompanying one-shot set back at Athanarel, an alternate ending (the events don't change, just the manner in which they are presented), and maybe another alternate ending in which she sees the ring as he's bandaging her arm (I must confess, I included the part about her not seeing solely to torture you!) It seems rather pretentious to be doing alternate endings for my own fanfic, but if you'd have any interest in seeing any of those, mention it in your review—because you _are_ going to review. Right?

Author's note two: This is a revised version; I only made two changes, and one of them still isn't how I want it, but maybe I can put the other stuff in a future chapter.

Thank you for all of your kind reviews. 


	10. Chapter 10

Author's note: Sorry about the delay—I've been working on other fanfics, and original stories, and waiting for inspiration to strike. I know some of you thought the story was finished, but let me remind you that this is not about the fluff… remember the Merindar plot? Remember Flauvic? Minor loose ends needing to be tied up? ;-)

- - -

Eventually, the sound of rapidly approaching hoofbeats dragged me back to the present, and we pulled away from each other just as a weary, mud-spattered courier entered the tent after being stopped by the guards outside. He struggled to attention and saluted. Shevraeth gestured for him to relax. "Remalna-city is deserted," the man gasped out.

My eyes widened, and so did Shevraeth's, but not as perceptibly. "What do you mean?"

"I got there second-gold. There should've been people in the streets, but there weren't. No animals, either." He shook his head. "Didn't see Keira. Turned around and rode straight back."

I looked in confusion from the courier to Shevraeth, but all he said was, "Good. You did the right thing. Go to the cook-tent and get something to eat; you're off duty."

As soon as the man was gone, I said, "What's going on?"

"I didn't get a chance to tell you," he said. "I arranged with my parents to send a courier from Athanarel once each day, even if there was no news to report. She never arrived yesterday, so I sent a runner to observe and return." He extended his hand to me. "It would seem that the Merindar threat is not yet over. Are you ready for another ride?"

Get rest, hot food, and warm, clean clothes, or go with Shevraeth to Athanarel? It was no decision at all.

We didn't leave until after nightfall, and consequently rode at a gallop for the capital—though I think we would have ridden headlong no matter when we had left. As a result there was little opportunity for conversation, but much opportunity for thought. And I had a lot to think about, and not just that kiss—though I did seem to spend a disproportionate amount of time dwelling on it.

When we stopped at an inn, sometime during white-change, I looked over at Shevraeth, and though he and I were both weary, I couldn't help but laugh. He smiled down at me somewhat quizzically and guided me inside.

"I should have guessed," I said when we were settled inside a parlor, with a welcome fire roaring in the hearth and a tray of hot chocolate at hand. "I can't believe I didn't! The sword, your not responding to any of my written messages—and worrying that I'd read the one you had sent, after you left—Savona knowing about the roses…"

"There were times when it was hard to keep from telling you," he admitted. "That day in the archives, when you said I couldn't have anything to say to you—I nearly told you then."

"Why didn't you?" Even as I spoke, the answer came intuitively.

"Because I did not know how you felt," he said, his eyes serious again. "I hoped—but my own emotions were too involved for me to see clearly. And, also, I wanted to keep the Merindars from taking an unhealthy interest in you. Though that seems to have been a fruitless endeavour."

I hugged my knees. "I felt so guilty," I said. "I'd fallen in love with the Unknown—and then I think I knew I was falling in love with you. And then—" I shook my head, remembering one of the sources of my confusion. "What about Elenet?"

Now Shevraeth looked confused. "What about her?"

"There was—well, there was gossip," I said, though my conclusions had come only from my own observations. "About the two of you. And she'd be better suited to ruling."

"Gossip was inevitable, given our social proximity," he replied. "We both knew that. Yet her true purpose in coming to Athanarel was to inform me of Grumareth's activities, and I spent time with her as a warning to the Merindars not to consider retaliation."

Somehow, he didn't know, I realized, and knew instinctively that the only honorable thing to do—and the kindest—was to keep it that way. So I merely nodded, and said, "You didn't capture the Duke, did you?"

He shook his head. "He probably went home, either to Grumareth or Athanarel. In either case he'll find Renselaeus warriors waiting for him."

Athanarel. Remalna-city. "What do you think happened? Flauvic?"

Shevraeth grimaced. "I see no other possible explanation. With magic, he would have had no trouble eluding the ridings I set to watch him."

"But I thought you said he hadn't been trained?"

Shevraeth looked even grimmer. "He has not been trained by the Council of Mages, which leaves only the possibility that he has been instructed in black magic."

I shivered. There were two types of magic in the world, black and white. Some regarded black as more powerful—it certainly had a greater capacity for active harm. But it was also more dangerous, and there was only one way Flauvic could have learned it: from Norsundrian sorcerers.

And Galdran had made very sure Remalna had no mages. I shivered again. There was so much more I wanted to know from Shevraeth—above all why, and how—but the thought of what we would face at the end of our ride effectively curbed my curiosity. "Should we be riding alone, then?"

"Numbers have no effect on a mage," he said. "I would rather not send any of my people into danger they had no chance of facing." He gave me a sidelong look, and for once I knew what he was thinking.

"Absolutely not," I said firmly. "I'm going with you, and you're going to let me, or else we wouldn't have gotten this far. I've been in danger before, remember?"

"Quite well," he said drily. His face softened. "I think that's when I fell in love with you. That day in the throne room, when you glared at Galdran as if you were queen in your own Court, not a sick captive. And then on the subsequent chase, I had long hours to think of you."

I laughed. "I was thinking of you, too—only not in a good way." Shevraeth's eyes gleamed with humor. "I think I loved you from the very beginning. Only I didn't want to admit it, because I didn't know what it was."

Before he could answer, a servant bustled in to tell us our fresh horses were ready, and I looked at the fire longingly—but only for a moment. Then I struggled to my feet, and Shevraeth was there to help me up. "Wait," he murmured as I started for the door. "There is something I want you to have." He pulled something out of his boot top, then rolled up his sleeve, and I saw a slender sheath of dark blackweave fastened to the inside of his wrist, the steel of the knife gleaming softly in the firelight.

"You had those at Chovilun," I said.

"Yes. I carry them with me always." He offered the blades to me, and I tucked the one in my boot and fastened the other to my left wrist. The strap was large, and I had to pull it past the last hole and tie it back on itself to get it to stay. The knot made an awkward bulge, but when I rolled my sleeve back down it was hidden.

I looked up to see him standing quite near me, and smiled as he bent down to kiss me again, sending delightful shivers through my body. With the greatest reluctance, I remembered Athanarel and Flauvic. "Let's get this over with," I said.

-

Remalna-city was deserted; it was odd to see the streets without their usual bustle of people. Our horses' hoofbeats echoed off the stone walls and reverberated in a strange humming that seemed to fill my ears, shifting in pitch as we rode. No matter how I shook my head, I still heard it, and the air seemed to sparkle as well.

Those thoughts vanished from my head when we reached Athanarel and I saw with shock that the doorwards had been replaced with white statues… no. I looked closer. The doorwards had become white statues, their every feature etched with a detail that no hand could have reproduced.

We halted in the courtyard and dismounted in silence, Vidanric surveying everything with his assessing gaze, me looking around at more of the statues. Everyone was frozen in the middle of some action, which meant they'd been caught unawares. And none of them seemed to be in pain. I took my sword from its saddle-ties and strapped the belt around my waist.

"The throne room," Vidanric murmured. We were right outside it. "There are servant's passages there that will allow us to move through the palace undetected."

Neither of us mentioned, as we ascended the steps, that Flauvic could have spells watching the passages, or waiting for someone to stir in his dead realm. And then we didn't need to, for there on the throne was Flauvic himself.

He smiled gently. "I expected you earlier," he said. Then he saw me, and his golden gaze flickered between me and Vidanric. "Though not in such… charming company. I take it that was the reason you were delayed?"

I felt my face grow hot. "Administrative details," Vidanric said.

"Ah, thank you," Flauvic said. "I find such things trivial. Magic serves as a conveniently expedient substitute for alliances and armies."

"You included among your acquaintance in Nente Norsundrian sorcerers?" Vidanric asked.

"I did," Flauvic confirmed. "After all, we couldn't have my dear family suspecting what I was studying, could we? Thus the necessity of learning from other than the Council of Mages." He turned to me. "So ignorant was my mother, in fact, that she asked me to retain you in hopes of making you her pet mage. I hope you will appreciate the irony," he added. "It was not lost on me."

I thought furiously. So that was why the Merindar men had pursued me—not to kill me or use me as a hostage, but because one of the people responsible for my mother's death had decided I might possess some of her skills. I wished desperately that I knew some magic, any magic, to counter Flauvic… _But wishing never got anyone anywhere but right where they were_, I thought. It was one of Julen's favorite phrases.

"As my spells, regrettably, could not extend to your army of yours, I suspect your people will be here shortly," Flauvic said, still smiling gently. "It would be… felicitous… if the transfer of power were concluded by then." He gestured lazily to a side table upon which were spread several papers. "A simple signature will suffice."

Vidanric opened his mouth to say something, but Flauvic stood up and strolled over to one of the statues. "I am aware that physical threats against your person would be ineffective in procuring your cooperation," he said. "Therefore, a demonstration." He drew a knife from his clothes and stabbed it into the statue. I gasped as the figure, which I recognized as the Duke of Grumareth, crumbled to the ground. "I spent my time during Meliara's charming entertainment ascertaining the probable whereabouts of those of value to you," he said. "I have people with them now."

The room seemed to hum with silence after Flauvic delivered his threat. _But that's ridiculous_, I thought, _silence is quiet_. But the feeling was there, pulling at my senses as sound and vibration and scintillation. _It must be the black magic._

I glanced at Vidanric. His head was bowed, and he was deep in thought. Flauvic's gesture to him caught my eye. "This is regrettable," he murmured to me. "I'd anticipated waking you when events were over for some diverting entertainment. Would a promise of safekeeping and amusement entice you to change partners?"

I felt my cheeks burn at the crudeness of his—his—statement, before I realized he'd done it on purpose. Well, if he could humiliate me, I could humiliate him. "Sadly not," I said. "I'm afraid my time at Athanarel has improved my tastes."

I felt satisfaction in seeing him blush as well before he turned away. I was armed, with throwing knives as well as a sword, but knew I couldn't use them quickly enough. Vidanric, on the other hand… I had gotten a glimpse of his aptitude that day in the dungeon at Chovilun. But if Flauvic sensed what he was up to, he'd get the stone-spell—or worse, because Flauvic would still need him to sign over the kingdom.

"On the other hand," I said, my heart pounding in my chest. "Who would this promise of safekeeping extend to?"

Flauvic's lazy smile returned. "Not my dear cousin, I'm afraid," he said, and I felt Vidanric look at me, but I couldn't look back and direct Flauvic's attention that way. "Was there someone specific you had in mind?"

"Bran and Nee," I said, trying to slow my heart, which was inexplicably racing. What was wrong with me? I'd faced danger before. "And me, of course."

His eyes narrowed. "I had not marked you for a coward."

Well, I wasn't, though I certainly felt like one at the moment—and then I heard a soft whistling, like the sound of a reed pipe and realized. It wasn't my heartbeat. Somehow, it was the wooden drums of the Hill Folk.

"I hadn't marked you for a traitor, either," I said. If I could draw Flauvic into a battle of wits—I knew he wouldn't pass up the opportunity to insult me, not now that I'd refused him—

"Traitor to whom? To an uncrowned king? To a hazy set of ideals that is his plan? Power rests with those who can hold it, my dear Meliara. You—" his eyes widened as he heard the muted thunder, and he stared out the doors. I risked a quick look over my shoulder to see that a forest, shimmering oddly in the light, had sprouted outside Athanarel. It was the largest gathering of Hill Folk I had ever seen, and I stared.

Flauvic's gaze snapped to me. "You did this," he said, and advanced on me. I backed up and drew my sword. His eyes narrowed and he muttered something, and with a wrenching yank my sword fell to the floor. I reached for it, but it had fallen right between us, and he kicked it away. "Send them away," he said.

I backed up some more. "I couldn't, even if I wanted to. I didn't summon them." Knowing it was probably futile, I drew the knife from my boot-top and circled around—and this time, when Flauvic muttered, I flung the blade at him.

It missed and clattered to the floor by his shoe. "Interesting," he said, picking it up and examining it, still keeping Vidanric and I in his sight. "Marloven work. Yours, cousin?"

Then suddenly Flauvic's weight shifted, and my fingers twitched towards the other knife as Vidanric started forward, but before either of us could fully react Flauvic grabbed me and pulled me to him, and I felt the cold steel at the hollow of my throat. "I wonder how you will feel watching your knife spill her blood?" his voice purred in my ear. "Tell them to vanish, or I will satisfy my curiosity."

The chant of the Hill Folk increased in volume and in speed, and with Flauvic's wrist pressed to my chest, I could feel the hammering of his pulse. The knowledge that he was afraid catalyzed me into action: thinking he would not kill his hostage, I snatched the knife from my sleeve and plunged it wildly over my shoulder, throwing my weight backwards against him as I did so that his knife would not find my neck. I felt my blade hit flesh—he gasped and the point of his knife tore from the hollow of my throat towards my shoulder—I ducked blindly away from him and collapsed to the floor, and as he started towards me, blood dripping on the flagstones, Vidanric was there, blocking his knife-thrust with a sword-parry.

Flauvic dropped his knife from his injured arm and backed up—he glared at us and chanted under his breath, and a red glow arced from his left hand towards Vidanric—but he was too late, as the song of the Hill Folk reached its zenith and he was enveloped in golden light, glowing so brilliantly that I had to hide my eyes. I felt Vidanric wrap his arms around me and take us two steps back—there was a feeling like silent thunder, a resounding _crash!_ and the feeling of dust raining down on my hair--

-- then stillness. I looked, and in the place of Flauvic, was a magnificent goldenwood tree, the branches arching through the new hole in the mosaic ceiling. And the Hill Folk were gone.

I felt hands at my throat. "You're hurt," Vidanric murmured, and I could hear the apprehension in his voice.

"It's not bad—I don't _think_ it's bad—" If Flauvic had cut one of my major blood vessels, I would be dead by now, but Vidanric's fingertips were still covered in blood.

A pause. "No. It's not bad." A tearing sound, and he folded part of his sleeve and held it to my neck. "Mel," he whispered, drawing me to his chest, and I closed my eyes, slipping my arms around his back. Then I tilted my head up as I felt his hand guiding my chin, and leaned into the gentleness of a long, lingering kiss.

"This is an interesting development," someone said from behind us.

- - -

One more chapter left, than the one-shot and maybe some alternate stuff. This ending didn't turn out exactly how I wanted it, but oh well.

Sorry about the delay—I lost my ideas, worked on other stories, stuff happened. The other chapter is half-written, though, which should speed things up.


End file.
